


Oh My Dear

by The_Winter_Straw



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Mild Adult Situations, POV Second Person, Post-Avengers (2012), Reader-Insert, coarse language, mild sexual references, rom com
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2020-06-25 13:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 53,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19746787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Winter_Straw/pseuds/The_Winter_Straw
Summary: For [F Name] [L Name], Manhattan was nothing but a hellhole. She got out and wasn't ever coming back. When a set of cut-rate superheroes tears the city apart, however, her grandmother sucks her back into that familiar life of loneliness and angry customers. Even worse, one of those superheroes has decided to use [Name] in another crazy plan to "help" his best friend. Unfortunately for everyone involved, Tony's plan just might work-if only for a few months.In response to the "#1 AVENGERS ULTIMATE CHALLENGE!!!!" by DancingBubbles on Lunaescence Archives.





	1. Meet Cute

**Author's Note:**

> I was asked to answer this challenge around the time I was working on "Happily Ever After." The only two requirements (well, for the most part) were that it be a certain amount of chapters, and that the reader be a civilian. I'm happy to report that I won...but there was only one other entry so it's not really something to brag about. Six years since I finished this, and I wince over it. There are a lot of things I'd change. I'm only going through and giving these light edits, though. If I sat down and redid this properly, I wouldn't be able to finish anything else because it needs a lot of work. All the same, it's won a few awards on various websites and seems to remain read regularly to this day. I think it's just because it's one of those rare multi-chaptered works that's _finished_ -which is the exact same reason I'm posting it still. I finished it! Go me!
> 
> Are you ready? I'm not. This is gonna hurt...

Seven months prior, an alien army had swarmed into the island of Manhattan. Cars burned, buildings turned to rubble, lives lost, all in the name of no-one-knew-who. Of course, the story was that some extraordinary "beings" had stopped the attack, and even if that _was_ true...well, life had changed. People had to learn to move on–without work, without cars, without family members. The invasion had been avoided, sure, but that didn’t change the fact that most people, the _ordinary_ people, got their lives ripped apart that day. Some, even, that hadn’t been there during the attack. 

Which was how you found yourself one Monday morning, up before the sun and shoveling pancakes onto a china plate. The tiny, wrinkled woman sitting in the chair behind it gave you a shaky smile that you returned before getting back to your skillet. You could hear the clink of cutlery against the plate above the quiet hiss of the still-wet mix you smacked onto the bottom of your cookware. 

“So, today’s the big day,” the woman said to the otherwise silent kitchen. You lifted a spatula and slid the last pancake onto your own plate and turned toward her. This gave you enough time to hitch a smile to your face before you walked to the table. 

“Mmhm.” You sat the plate down, keeping your eyes averted from the other end of the table, and slid into your seat. 

“You’re going to do great.” 

Your smile strained wider as you finally looked up at her. “I know, Nana.” And you did. You knew how important that day was for her. It had taken seven long months to rebuild the tiny grocery store she and your grandfather had owned before the incident. You couldn’t blame her for being eager to get back to work–even if _she_ , technically, couldn’t get back to work. As if sensing that you hadn’t exactly answered her, she reached forward to pat your hand. Her own palm felt dry against your skin. 

“And I’ll be right here if you need anything. So you can give me a call. Not that you’ll need any. You’re a smart girl.” You smiled again, more warmly this time, and she settled back down to her breakfast. 

A smart, nearly thirty-year-old girl stuck running a grocery store in Manhattan. At least content that your grandmother wasn’t going to be watching you for any more signs of malcontent, you set to covering your pancakes methodically with syrup. After that, it was a simple matter of place in mouth, chew, and swallow. Anything to keep you from thinking about what you _would_ be doing if you weren’t there with your grandmother. 

The sun remained below the horizon all through breakfast. There wasn’t a single speck of sunlight visible, even as you took both plates from the table and began washing them in the kitchen sink. Steaming water burned your fingers, but you hardly noticed as you peered through the fourth floor window out onto the street below. New York truly was the city that never slept, but this early in the morning, the roads were clearer than usual. They wouldn’t stay that way for long, though, and that meant you had to get to work. 

“Well, guess I better head out there,” you said, as you toweled your hands dry. “Thanks for breakfast, Nana.” 

Nana nodded her wizened head and backed her wheelchair up. “Of course. Now come give your grandmother a hug.” 

She stretched her arms out. You grabbed your bag from the table beside the door before you bent to hug her. Several quick pats on the back later and she released you, rapidly blinking away tears. “Now, you be safe. It’s your first day, and I want you back home as soon as possible.” 

“Right. I’ll give you a call if I make other plans.” 

“Please do.” 

You flashed her another smile, then opened the door. Her being on her own for the rest of the day wasn’t too worrying. Nana had got the hang of using her wheelchair pretty quickly after you arrived. More likely than not, she’d be parked in front of the television, watching _Judge Judy_ and waiting eagerly for you to call and ask about some bit of trivia concerning the store. Probably be putout if you didn't, too. 

“Oh! [Name]!” 

You stopped with one leg out the door, glancing back at her. “Yes? Do you need me to pick something up on the way home?” 

Nana rolled her chair slightly forward. “Mr. Banner will be by sometime today. That’s the package I asked you to set aside when you were stocking up this weekend. Make sure he gets it.” 

“I will, Nana.” You ducked your head once, but clearly she wasn’t finished with you yet. 

“He can get quite testy if he isn’t served quickly. And there's another package-” 

“Got it, Nana,” you called over your shoulder before letting the door slam shut behind you. Outside, the apartment complex was fairly still. Of course it would be, seeing as how it was only four-thirty in the morning. Most people who got up this early only did it long enough to let their dogs out. You gave polite nods to those you did pass, but mostly kept your eyes on your shoes as you climbed the four sets of stairs down to where your bike was padlocked to a rack next to the street. 

Within five minutes, you had unlocked the chain, jammed your helmet onto your head, and peddled away. A couple of taxis sped past going the opposite direction, off the island and into New York City proper. That was one good thing about your job, you supposed. The commute wasn’t costly or too overly long. A fifteen minute bike ride and a chance for some quiet. Nana almost never turned the television off those days. 

You met no one other than the occasional vagabond or another biker. The vagabonds seemed to know on sight you had nothing to give them and so stayed grumbling against the wall. Or maybe even the vagabonds in Manhattan needed coffee to get a jump start. Whatever it was, you appreciated the space they gave you. All the bikers and pedestrians did was keep their eyes averted as you moved past. 

At the bay, you lifted your feet and allowed yourself to glide past the water. Several boats were already docked, tiny light bulbs still twinkling from the strings tied to them, and, out in the water, you could see the silhouettes of fishing boats bobbing in the waves. Behind it all New York City bustled with activity, though the sun was a merely a strip of pink where the sky met the water. 

All in all, the day wasn’t turning out to be a total bust. If you got up that early every morning, you could easily spend a good twenty minutes pedaling around the island and relaxing before you got to work. Or, at least you thought so until you turned onto the street that housed Nana’s grocery store and saw the delivery truck already rumbling at the doorstep. 

“W-Wait,” you shouted after them, despite knowing no one inside it could hear you from that distance. “Wait!” 

The truck responded by shifting into gear and pulling its slow way out into road. You pressed yourself forward and pedaled faster. “Wait!” When that didn’t work, you took your hands off the handles and waved them in the air. “Wait! Please!” 

Thankfully, a truck of that size couldn’t move very quickly in the narrow street. You pulled to a stop, panting, right next to the driver’s window. He glanced at you, rolled his eyes, and shifted back into park. A gusty sigh of relief blew through your lips as his partner opened the opposite door and walked around the car to stare at you, arms folded across his chest. 

“Yeah?” the workman grunted. 

“I–I need-” You found it difficult to speak through your panting. Biking for fifteen minutes was no joke! “You’re here for…delivery…store? Right?” 

The man eyed you as if he couldn’t quite believe his own day was starting out so weirdly, but flipped through several pages of his clipboard with half-lidded eyes. “Yeah. We got a delivery to 1908 20th Street, a store called ‘The Stand.’” 

“That’s me!” you puffed. His dark eyes flicked up and down your body and not, obviously, because he thought you were cute. Not when you were that red cheeked, freaked out, sweaty…and still wearing a very alluring bike helmet. 

“You’re late.” 

“It’s only–” You broke off to look at your watch. “Seven after five!” 

“And we deliver exactly at five. Look, lady, we got a schedule to keep. Make sure you’re here on time next Monday.” 

Next Monday? Oh no. Oh no, no, no. You could _not_ let this wait until next Monday. Nana was already fragile as it was! Could she stand the heartbreak of her store waiting _another_ week to re-open? You considered getting off your bike and onto your knees to beg, but it appeared that the deliveryman already thought you crazy enough. Instead, you simply clasped your hands in front of you. 

“ _Please_?” He continued to look unmoved. “It’s the grand opening and it’s my first day. I promise I’ll be here on time next week. Promise. So…please?” 

The man eyed you again, for a moment longer that time, then let his hands fall to his side. “You gonna do all the loading up inside?” 

“Yes!” Anything, just to get the produce where it was supposed to be, without alerting Nana to the fact that you had screwed up this quickly. 

“Well…all right. But just this once, ya hear?” 

“Yes! Thank you!” You flung yourself off your bike as the deliveryman opened up the back of his truck. He pulled five crates onto the concrete and then offered you the clipboard. 

“Sign here.” 

You did, so eagerly that you practically thrust the object back into his face. He pursed his lips but said nothing as he flipped back to your page. 

“[F Name] [L Name]?” he asked. “You’re not the owner.” 

“She’s my grandmother,” you said quickly. The deliveryman let out a harassed-sounding sigh. 

“Says in our contract we’re not supposed to deliver to anyone but to one of the original owners.” 

“But–” 

“We are aware, of course,” he continued over you in a tone that made it clear he had made this speech several times, “that one of them has recently become deceased. However, seeing as how no [F Name] [L Name] has been added on in the interim, we’re under no contractual obligation to leave these here.” 

You felt tears gathering in the corner of your eyes. Great, the store hadn’t even opened yet, and you were already about to cry–in front of some delivery guy that just wanted to get on with his day. His friend in the truck added to your over-sensitivity by honking impatiently. 

“I just want to put everything up so I can reopen the shop and not break my Nana’s heart!” you wailed, so loudly that several of the passerby that were on their own way to jobs and errands and schools looked in your direction. The unwanted attention, more than anything, seemed to disturb the deliveryman. 

“Woah, woah, woah. What are you _doing_?” he wanted to know. 

“What does it look–” You drew your sleeve over your nose “–like I’m doing?” 

The man frowned and scratched the back of his head where his dark hair spilled from underneath his cap. “Look.” He went back to his paper. “[Name] was it?” 

You nodded. 

“You’ve got the same last name as the store owner, okay? So just this once, I’ll leave this here. But let me warn you: If you’re doing all of this to steal everything, the owner of this store will sue. You wouldn’t be the first one to try.” 

“She’s not going to sue me. She’s my grandmother,” you sobbed. 

“Okay, okay, calm down!” 

Slowly, your sniffling subsided and you were able to look him in the face again. Your eyes still wet with tears, you asked, “And you’ll leave all this? So long as I don’t steal it?” 

“Yeah, yeah. It’s all yours.” 

You could have hugged him, even though only a few minutes ago he had been threatening your way of life. Thankfully, you were able to restrain yourself and the man was able to close the back of the truck and climb back inside it without being assaulted. Once he had trundled around a corner, you relaxed, walked back over to your bike to chain it to the bike rack in front of the store, and started your day. 

Despite your grandmother's (and your own) insistence that you would be fine, running a grocery store even as small as the Stand proved trying. Before the first customer even set foot in the store, you had already lugged the crates inside, unloaded everything, turned on the computer, and set up several signs announcing the Stand’s grand opening and all the sales associated with it. 

Apparently Nana’s store was sorely missed because no sooner had you turned the sign on the door to open than did people begin to pop in. Slowly, at first, so that you were lulled into a false sense of security, but soon it seemed you had the entire population of Manhattan inside your building. 

“Ma’am, how much are these avocados?” asked a thin woman over in the fruit section. 

“Miss, your scale must be broken because there is absolutely no way in hell that this is a full pound of hamburger meat,” called a portly man from the meat section. 

“Mommy, I _need_ that candy,” screamed a child at the front. 

Why had your grandmother insisted on only hiring family members? There was no way you could handle all that by yourself! Within the hour, you were running yourself ragged and almost considering giving Nana a call and _begging_ her to come by to help you. You resisted only by reminding yourself that the doctor said her condition would only be exacerbated in such an environment. 

By noon, a good chunk of the store’s wares had been cleared from the shelves. Even though you wanted nothing more than to sit down with a bottle of water, you began to restock. It was slow, tedious work, hampered by the fact that people were still arriving in truckloads. You had only just finished the apples when a voice behind you said: 

“Excuse me?” 

“Be right with you,” you grunted. If only you could beg them to leave. Unfortunately, you couldn’t and they would only be leaving once they found out that, yes, you _were_ entirely out of coconuts. Still, you got to your feet, already dusting your hands off as you turned toward whoever it was. 

“Sorry if you’re busy,” the man said as you got a full look at him. You weren’t sure why you did look so hard. Maybe it was because, for once that day, you were alone with someone and able to actually take in one of your customers. He wasn’t too much to look at, really. A little on the short side, with dark curly hair, a purple shirt, and an odd tendency to rub his hands together. 

“When am I not?” you scoffed, but smiled since his was the only apology you had got that day. 

He only rubbed his hands together harder. “I don’t know.” 

“It was a rhetorical question.” 

“Right.” He smiled at your words, a nervous smile. Clearly the man was crazy. You walked briskly past him toward the front counter. 

“What did you need?” 

“Actually, I’m here to pick something up. A friend put my name on it. It should already be pulled.” 

“Oh!” You looked up in surprise. “You’re Mr. Banner?” 

He smiled again, this time more confidently. “Actually, it’s Dr. Banner.” 

“Ah, sorry. Only following what Nana said. Yeah, I already pulled it. Let me grab it for you.” You glanced behind yourself to find him still standing back in the fruit section. A brisk wave moved him forward. “Come on up.” 

Before you could see if he was following your suggestion, you ducked underneath the counter. Two straining paper bags sat on the bottom shelf. You checked to make sure they did, in fact, say "Banner" on them before heaving them onto the counter. 

“All right. Here you go,” you said. Dr. Banner looked from the bags to you, to the bags and back again. 

“All right,” he said slowly as he drew his wallet from his back pocket. “What do I owe you?” 

“Nothing,” you said simply. 

“Wait. I don’t have to pay,” he peered into one of the bags and looked quizzically into your face, “for all of this?” 

You answered with a shrug. “Nana says it’s already paid for. Have a nice day!” 

He took the hint. Without you having to say anything more to rush him out (well, you had lot of restocking to do! Not to mention coconuts to order), Dr. Banner put his wallet back into his pocket, hefted the bags into his arms (no mean feat, since he kind of looked like you could kick his face in if turned out he really _was_ crazy), and left the store. 

With a sigh of relief, you got back to your fruit. A few minutes later, the bells on the front door jingled to announce another customer. As this one did not interrupt your work, you figured they knew their way around. At least, you thought they did, until an old man’s voice crackled toward you. 

“What do I have to do to get some service around here?” 

“Oh!” His sudden snap startled you so much that the tray of oranges balancing in your lap fell to the floor and rolled across the tile. A disgusted sigh followed. 

“And a klutz. Store has gone to dogs if you ask me…” 

You put on your brightest smile as you stood up. Standing at the front counter was an angry-looking, older gentleman in golf clothing, horribly patterned pants and all. You walked toward him, confusion evident on your face. 

“Sorry, sir. Is there anything I can help you with?” 

“Can?” he barked. “I’m sure there’s plenty you _can_ help me with. The problem is that you probably won’t!” 

“Again, I apologize for the delay, sir,” you said, though your polite tone sounded a little flat. 

He snorted. “Can’t apologize enough. Where’s the owner?” 

“She’s been incapacitated for the time being,” you answered, giving him the very same response you’d given to everyone else that had walked in the door with that very same question. 

“And just who _are_ you supposed to be?” 

“I’m [F Name] [L Name]. The owner of this store is my grandmother.” 

“ _Is_ she? Well, I’ll be talking to her later.” 

“That’s wonderful, sir, now what can I help you with?” 

“You can help me with the order I filled two weeks ago! I specifically asked for it to be pulled early. I already paid for it, now get it to me.” 

“Right away, sir,” you said, already ducking back behind the counter. “What was the name on that order?” 

“It’s Banner,” he snapped. “Now where’s my grapefruit?” 

You stood so quickly that the top of your head crashed into the counter. 

“ _Shit._ ”


	2. The World for a Coconut

“Tony? …Tony? …Tony?”

If there was _one_ thing Bruce Banner hated more than standing next to a busy street while waiting for Tony to let him into Stark Tower, it was standing next to a busy street while waiting for Tony to let him into Stark Tower while he, Bruce, carried two straining paper bags of grapefruit. He was _trying_ to stay under the radar, not attract the attention of every person on the island. No matter what Tony said about people changing their minds after the Battle of New York, Bruce wasn’t exactly sure–

“Bruce? That you?” Tony's voice asked over the intercom. 

Bruce took a shaky breath and looked around. Just because his super genius friend wasn’t worried about people in Manhattan being on the lookout for a scientist with anger issues didn’t mean they weren't. When no one in the near vicinity looked hastily in his direction upon hearing his name, Bruce still kept his voice down to answer:

“Yeah, it’s me.”

There was another long pause before Tony responded. “Did you get the package?”

Bruce glanced at the bags in his arms. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I got it.”

“Great!” The Stark Tower’s intercom lines were clear enough that Bruce could hear the faint beep of a button as Tony added, “Come on in. You can just drop that in the kitchen.”

“Sure.” 

Bruce looked over his shoulder just as the door gave a quiet snick and unlocked itself. After seven months, most people (including Tony) thought Bruce should have been over his paranoia regarding recapture, but none of _them_ had been on the run up until very recently. None of _them_ had ever had someone rip away from a crowd, tackle them to the ground, and scream for backup. He only relaxed once the back door had locked itself again behind him.

Inside, the tower hallways were cool and quiet, lit by lights in the walls that gave off an almost blue-white glow. Though Bruce knew for a fact that there were workman in the professional side of the tower, Tony had made the walls thick enough that if Bruce _hadn’t_ known that they were there, he would have assumed himself to be entirely alone.

It was an odd feeling, knowing that he wasn’t. He wasn't entirely anonymous like he had been in Indian either. Loki’s attack on the city seven months ago had given him a home in Stark Tower and a family in the Avengers, but it had also given Bruce a giant glaring name tag for anyone that knew the Other Guy wasn’t _always_ the Other Guy.

He shuffled quietly into the kitchen, which was all gleaming silver metal and screens that monitored the status of every piece of equipment and food in the room. Tony was already shoulder-deep inside the refrigerator. Bruce said nothing as he walked forward to shift his bags of grapefruits onto the black granite island in the center of the room.

At the sound of the paper rasping against the counter, Tony resurfaced from the depths of the fridge. He grinned upon spotting Bruce standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“Good morning!”

“Tony, it’s one o’ clock in the afternoon,” Bruce said with a tiny smile. “You’ve been up since five. I heard you doing something down in your laboratory.”

Tony’s grin widened. “You caught me.”

“Any new developments?”

“Just some adjustments to the Mark III.” Tony leaned his elbows onto the counter. “And how was your first foray out into the real world?”

“It wasn’t a foray. It was your errands. And I already told you why I can’t keep going out there.”

“If they were errands, I would have asked Pepper to do them.”

“Pepper doesn’t need to get out more.”

“So you admit you need to get out more.” Tony pointed at Bruce and raised his eyebrows. 

Bruce shrugged. “It’s different.”

“Everyone needs socialization. Even people with me as their best friend.”

“Tony, I have to be careful. I can’t just go around the city like I _belong_ here. There will be people that recognized the Other Guy out there that day, and they’re going to know I’m around here somewhere.”

Tony rolled his eyes, running a finger along the opening to one of the grocery sacks. “ _Or_ they think you went back to India where it’s safe. Besides, who cares what they think? You–” He frowned. Bruce frowned back in response. Without saying anything else, Tony pulled the bag closer and peered inside. When he looked back up at Bruce, his eyebrows were furrowed. “Is this _grapefruit_?”

“Yes?”

“You went all the way to the 20th Street and came back with _grapefruit_?”

Bruce shifted uncomfortably. “That’s what she gave me. Is that not what you ordered?”

“Actually, I asked for a couple of coconuts. But,” Tony said as he pushed the bag back into the place Bruce had set, “I can probably use these for something. No need to waste your first baby steps.”

He decided not to get into Tony’s "baby steps" quip. Instead, Bruce stuck his hand into one of the bags and withdrew a grapefruit. He threw it once in the air and said, “What are you going to do with them?”

“Cook. What else?”

He stopped bouncing the grapefruit and looked over at Tony. “You can cook?”

“Hello? Genius?”

“Well, yeah.” Bruce shifted the fruit from one hand to the other. “I guess you just don’t seem much like the cooking type.”

“I can cook,” Tony began incredulously, but was unable to finish before Pepper swept inside the room. She gave Bruce a warm smile, ignoring Tony as was her wont to do after the man had managed to say something stupid the night before.

“Good afternoon, Bruce,” she said.

“Hello, Pepper.”

“Pepper,” Tony said, ignoring the fact that Pepper was ignoring him. “He thinks I can’t cook.”

“How was your walk this morning?” Pepper asked.

“Pepper–”

Bruce’s eyes wavered between the two of them before he answered, “It was very nice, thank you.”

“Good. Glad to see you out and about. It will be good for you to make some friends other than Tony. He can’t be a very good influence.”

“Hey!” Tony pointed at Pepper. “I am _not_ a bad influence. _I’m_ the one that came up with the brilliant plan to get him outside.”

“Yes, that’s all he needs out of a person.”

“Is there a problem here?”

Bruce sighed. He appreciated Tony and Pepper’s friendship, really he did. But even though they were both obviously in love with each other, they bickered _a lot_. Sometimes he wondered if getting caught by the military would be worth it if he didn’t have to moderate their arguments every other day.

“Listen, you guys–”

“Pepper,” Tony said again. “He thinks I can’t cook.”

Pepper said nothing, but looked in Bruce’s direction. He shrugged and tossed the grapefruit back and forth again. “Well, I’ve never seen him.”

“He can cook,” Pepper said with a hard look in Tony’s direction. “It’s just that he never does.”

“Is this about me not making you a romantic dinner for our anniversary?” Tony asked, his hands on his chest. “Because I thought you’d like–”

“No, this isn’t about that.”

“Then what’s it about?”

Bruce needed to get out of there fast. Soon, they would make up, and that would mean kissing. If there was kissing, there would be tongue.

“Listen, guys,” Bruce said, “I really think I’ll be going now. I’ve got a reaction going up in the lab. If I don’t get back to it, who knows what those chemicals might do? We don’t need another me running around the city.”

His weak attempt at a joke at least made the two of them stop fighting. Pepper’s mouth shut as she narrowed her eyes at the orange ball in Bruce’s hands. “Is that a grapefruit?”

He chuckled. “Um. Yeah. I accidentally picked up about five pounds of them at the store today.”

Pepper turned back to Tony. “I thought I asked you to order coconuts.”

“I did order coconuts.” When she narrowed her eyes further at him, Tony lifted his hands. “I did!”

Pepper rolled her eyes and went to look at the grapefruits herself. “That’s odd. Normally Doris doesn’t mess up orders. But then again, the store did just reopen…and her husband just died.”

“You’re on first name terms with the produce lady?”

“Unlike you, Tony, I actually _care_ about the people I work with.”

“Oh so that’s what this is about? Because I forgot the name of that one lady?”

“It’s not just one–”

“Guys.” Bruce cleared his throat. “Could you…not do that? While I’m here? It makes me uncomfortable.”

Pepper immediately looked chastised. She bit her lip then stepped forward to wrap her arms around Bruce in a hug. She released him only a half a second later, but Bruce could still feel his cheeks burning. It wasn’t that he was attracted to Pepper (not that she was an unattractive woman). He just wasn’t used to that sort of human contact was all. And _she_ knew how dangerous he was.

“We’ll stop. I’m so sorry,” she said.

“No.” Bruce took a step back, still clutching his grapefruit. “It’s fine. I didn’t mean to–I’ll just go.”

“And I’ll come with you!” Tony announced as he wrapped one arm around Bruce’s shoulder. It didn’t escape Bruce that Tony winked at Pepper as they left the room. Pepper looked like she might say something to keep Tony there, but instead she just sighed and pecked him on the cheek.

“I’ll call Doris,” she said. “Maybe we can get a refund for the grapefruit. Or at least an exchange. I don’t know _what_ I’m going to do with all of this.”

“Pop them in the oven with a bit of butter and brown sugar,” Tony said. “They’ll be delicious.”

“I'm supposed to do that every morning for the rest of the week?”

“If that’s what it takes, Pepper.”

******

“No, no, I understand completely. Yes, I’m sure we can rectify this situation. Yes.” Nana’s voice drifted quietly down the hallway from the living room, filling your ears as you let yourself into the apartment. The same lamps that had been on that morning flooded the entrance with golden light–perfect, since it was past nine and the night had doused the sky black. “Thank you again. You’ve been very understanding, Miss Potts. Thank you for calling. Yes. Goodbye.”

Nana clicked the telephone back into its holder just as you shrugged out of the faded denim jacket keeping you warm. You hardly noticed, considering the exhausted daze that had settled over you. The shop closed at five but after that had been hours’ worth of cleaning and stocking and filing and balancing. All you wanted to do was make dinner and crawl into bed until Wednesday, when you’d have to do it all again.

You stumbled toward the kitchen just in time for your grandmother to wheel into the room. The corners of her mouth were tucked down, making deep dimples in the soft skin around her lips.

“[Name],” she said gravely.

“Yeah?” you grunted in response, already opening cabinets and pulling out pots and pans and all the ingredients you needed to make spaghetti.

“That was Miss Potts on the phone just now.”

“Um…” you glanced back at your grandmother as you ran water into the largest pot. A quiet rumble echoed through the tiny room. “Who?”

“Miss Potts. She helps the manager of a very large company. She's a valued customer.”

“Oh…kay?” The faucet clanked off and you treded carefully over to the stove with your pot of water. “Did she come by today or something?”

You switched the stove on while waiting for her answer. Another glance behind you showed Nana shaking her head slowly from side to side. “No, no she didn’t.”

“Okay, so…what’s up?” It was difficult to talk to Nana _and_ make dinner at the same time. The tomato paste hissed slightly when you poured it into a saucepan. What was making her so upset? Had Miss Potts decided to cancel her service?

“She sent a friend in earlier today, around lunchtime. Maybe you saw him?”

“If he came into the store,” you stirred the bay leaves into the sauce and checked the other pot for boiling, “I definitely saw him. But no one mentioned anything about a Miss Potts.”

“That’s because the name on the package was different. Did anyone come in by the name of ‘Banner’?”

“Actually, Nana, _two_ people came in by the name of Banner. A doctor and a mister. Which one was it?”

“Doctor Banner. [Name], did you give him the wrong package?”

"I…” You paused to wipe your brow; the steam from the water was sticking to your skin. “Yeah. I accidentally gave him Mr. Banner’s stuff.”

“Oh, _[Name]_.” Nana shook her head again, looking so disappointed that your heart might have broken if you weren’t more upset with her being so upset. “How _could_ you?”

“It was an accident! I pulled the grapefruits. You said they were for a Banner, a Banner showed up, I gave him the fruit,” you said, just as the water began to boil. Quickly, you grabbed the package of noodles sitting on the counter, poured them into your palm, and broke them in half. “What was I _supposed_ to do?” You poured the noodles into the water and started to stir.

"You should have listened the morning. I tried to tell you, but you slammed the door on me.”

“Because I needed to get to work. Mr. Banner’s package was the only one you had me pull!”

“[Name], if you’re going to work at the shop, I need you to pay attention. It’s only your first day, so Miss Potts was very kind in letting this slide. But if you make this mistake again, I don’t know what will become of us.”

A bubble of sauce popped and splattered across your face. You gave no sign that you noticed. You were too busy gaping at your grandmother, then closing your mouth to bite back all the words you could have said in retaliation to her lecture. They tasted like acid.

“I will be more careful in the future, Nana,” you said in a coolly calm voice. “Please let Miss Potts know that such a mistake will not happen again.”

Nana wheeled closer; you stirred harder. “That’s not enough, [Name]. The only reason this store is enough to provide for us is because of the loyalty our customers give us. I hired you under the assumption that–”

She broke off as you lifted the pot from the stove and rushed over to the sink. When she continued, she had to speak above the sound of hot water running down the drain.

“–the assumption that you would continue giving our customers the same care that your grandfather and I did.”

You heaved a sigh so hard that your shoulders fell. With the noodles safely in a strainer, you turned around, leaning against the edge of the sink with your elbows. “What do you want me to do, Nana?”

“Do you have any more coconuts?”

That was a strange change of conversation. “I ordered some around three this afternoon. They should be in tomorrow and ready for me to put them out when I get in Wednesday morning.” Thank goodness the store was only opened on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Friday, or else you thought you might go crazy.

“Then I’ll need you to go in tomorrow.”

“What? But the store isn’t open tomorrow!”

“I know. But you need to pick up the coconuts and deliver the order to Miss Potts and her employer. She has willingly agreed to exchange the food at no extra cost to herself. When you’re done there, you need to deliver the grapefruit to Mr. Banner.”

“But I already gave Mr. Banner a refund,” you protested. “ _And_ I promised to give him his order free when we got enough to fill it.”

Nana eyed you steadily over the table, as if judging you for something. Her voice was quiet when she spoke:

“That’s not enough, [Name].”

The words gurgled up inside you again, but you pressed them down. The sauce popped again and you rushed over, flicked the stove off, and whirled back again.

"Fine.”

"Thank you." She stared, for a just a moment longer, before spinning to move back into the living room.


	3. What Else Is New?

All around you buzzed the traffic and crowds of New York City. Peddlers hawked pretzels and pizzas and hot dogs; the scent of all three lingered pungent in the air. Children screamed; adults laughed; businessmen shouted into their cell phones. Most important of all: your taxi cab putted away from the curb and then went screeching back into the nearby steam of cars. You were left all alone in the midst of the unfamiliar chaos.

Dr. Banner’s address took you to the busiest side of the island. Despite having lived in Manhattan for seven months, you’d had few reasons to explore outside of your apartment, the doctor’s office, and your place of work. A small shudder worked its way up your back as you glanced around at the throng about you. How easy it would be to get lost, to disappear…

You shook your head and forced your gaze in front of you. As tempting as the idea of stealing away into the midday sun was, you had a job to do. Your shoulders lifted with a deep breath, and, slowly, you turned to look at Dr. Banner’s house.

Your jaw nearly dropped clean off. Towering above your head, the top nearly wreathed in clouds, stood Stark Tower– _The_ Stark Tower. Even seven months after the attack centered on it, construction workers swarmed in and out the front door; yellow tape wrapped over the areas they did not. With your mouth still hanging open, you looked down at the moist piece of paper still clutched in your left hand.

The address, if Nana had not got it wrong, matched the metal letters screwed into the bricks near the door. You couldn’t quite believe it. Dr. Banner lived _there_? In the building that belonged to one of the richest men in the nation? More than ever, you wished you could crawl back into bed. But already the pair of coconuts in your brown lunch bag weighed you down. You couldn’t just go home. Someone would call and let Nana know. And even if they didn’t, you couldn’t lie to your grandmother.

One quick gulp later, you stepped onto the stairs leading up to the doors and quietly walked into the building. A racket of hammers, nail guns, grunts, and shouted orders hit your ears as soon as you stepped inside. You winced, looking around. A woman with darkly tanned skin sat at a desk made of metal. Wrinkles on her forehead folded her face into a frown. Clearly, business wasn’t much of an issue during all this construction work; you spotted a magazine underneath her manicured fingernails as you neared.

“Excuse me?” you said. The woman did not look up. You tried again and this time raised your voice. “Excuse me.”

But all the secretary did was flip to another page in her magazine. Feeling a bit fed up already, you stuck your hand over the edge of her desk and waved your hand. The woman paused and looked up. Then her lips smooshed into an "o." A split second later and she plucked two bright orange plugs from her ears and placed them on her desk.

“I apologize for the wait, ma’am. May I help you?” she asked. 

“Um, sure.” You bit your lip. Good lord, but you were going to sound stupid. “I need to speak to Dr. Banner? We had a mix up at the store yesterday and I gave him the wrong order. I came to fix that.”

The woman frowned. “Dr. Banner?”

“Yes.”

“Does Dr. Banner work here?”

“I…guess so.”

Still looking confused, she placed her fingers on a screen on the desk face and started to scroll down a list of pictures, too fast for you to see or recognize any of the people displayed there. As she did, the secretary’s confusion only seemed to grow.

“Are you absolutely sure? Stark Industries is, of course, on half-staff while the building is repaired. He might have been transferred to one of our other facilities.”

“No, I’m quite sure he’s in Manhattan. I saw him only yesterday.”

“Well, ma’am, I’m sorry, but there’s no record of a Dr. Banner here. If you’d like, I could write down your number and send it through the staff e-mail. If anyone knows him, they could contact you that way.”

“That’s okay,” you sighed as slid your fingers from their perch on the desk. You only just turned away when you remembered and spun back around. “Miss Potts!”

The woman looked startled by your outburst. “Miss Potts is Mr. Stark’s personal assistant. What about her?”

“ _She_ was the one that called yesterday about the order. May I see her, please?”

“I’m not sure.” Her fingers hovered above the flashing touch-screen. “Miss Potts is usually very busy.”

“Then Mr. Stark,” you said. This only caused the woman’s face to twist further with doubt. “Look, I don’t care who I talk to. I just need to talk to someone. So…please?”

She paused and looked you up and down. You didn’t have time to wonder what she saw there; you were just thankful when she nodded and picked up the telephone to her right. “I’ll call and see if anyone is there.”

The keys sent up gentle notes as the secretary punched them as she lifted the phone to her mouth. You waited with baited breath. At last, the secretary grinned at you and held up a finger before placing it inside her other ear so that she could hear over the noise.

“Miss Potts? Yes. It’s Janie. I have a visitor for you downstairs. Actually, she’s here asking for a Dr. Banner, but says that she heard from you yesterday about a misplaced food order?”

Janie’s eyes moved toward you and then away again. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll ask.” She placed her hand over the base of the phone and leaned toward you. “Do you have the coconuts?”

In answer, you held up the slightly smashed-looking bag. Janie flashed you a thumbs up and went back to her call.

“Yes, Miss Potts, she has them. Okay, then. Yes, ma’am. I’ll send her right up. Goodbye.”

She settled the phone back onto its dock with another smile. “If you’ll just take the hallway to your left,” Janie pointed in that direction, “you'll find the elevator. Go to floor ninety and Miss Potts will be there to speak to you.”

Speak to you? _That_ didn’t sound good. You weren’t sure you could handle another lecture. But if there was no other way to get Mr. Banner’s grapefruit, then you had no choice. You nodded, thanked Janie for her time, and went on your way.

The elevator must have been soundproofed, for as soon as the door closed, the sounds of the work being done faded away. Through the glass floor, you could still see the workmen bustling around in their yellow hardhats. As far up as floor ninety was, it took a startling short amount of time for you to hear the quiet ding that announced your arrival. The doors spread open, allowing you your first glimpse into the gleaming hallways of Stark Tower’s private floors. Blue-white lights adorned the halls but let out not a single hum. Other than that, the walls were very sparsely decorated, the bareness only occasionally interrupted by a blown up magazine cover featuring the company’s boss.

“Um…hello? Miss Potts?” your voice fell dead onto the black floor as you stepped out of the elevator. 

Your heart thundered in your chest at the thought of having to navigate the unfamiliar territory on your own, but you need not have worried. As soon as the words were out of your mouth, the clacking of high-heeled shoes met your ears. You spun about and saw, striding toward you, a thin woman with an abundance of red hair pulled into a professional bun.

“Miss Potts?” you asked. 

The woman smiled as she came to a stop in front of you and held out her hand. “You can just call me Pepper. And you are?”

“[F Name] [L Name],” you answered, shaking her hand. Pepper certainly was much younger than you expected, although that still didn’t mean she wasn’t going to yell at you. Deciding it best to head her off, you lifted your bag of coconuts and gave it a shake. “I brought your coconuts.”

“That great,” said Pepper, and she looked as if she meant it. “If you’ll follow me, I can take you to the kitchen and you can get your grapefruit.”

She turned away without waiting for your answer to march back up the way she had come. You hurried after her. “I’m really sorry about this mix up, Miss Potts.”

“Really, just call me Pepper,” Pepper said again. “And don’t worry about it. Your grandmother said it was your first day. I know how hectic those can be. It's nothing compared to the mix ups Mr. Stark has on a daily basis.”

“Um…well…I won’t let it happen again…”

“You’re doing great, [Name]. I’m impressed you even did this much. Besides, we’ve always got great service from your grandparents. You’ll get the hang of it.”

You couldn’t think of anything to say to that warm statement and so settled for giving Pepper a shaky smile. She smiled back at you once more and then opened the door into a massive, gleaming kitchen. For the second time that day, your mouth popped open.

“It’s a little much,” Pepper said with a chuckle. “But you know Tony.”

“Sure...” You trailed away because, well, you didn’t know Mr. Stark. Sure, you knew _of_ him, but you hardly kept up with his news as much as the rest of the populace. Before the move, you’d been far too busy with your studies to bother much with current affairs unless a class required it. 

“Oh. Bruce.” Pepper stopped near a counter situated beneath a a rack of highly burnished copper pots. A familiar man stood across the way with an orange in one hand, his eyes wide and fixated on you. “Did you and Tony finish up already?”

“Nearly,” Dr. Banner answered without taking his eyes off of you. You weren’t sure why, but Dr. Banner looked…nervous to see you. His lips twitched while the silence between the three of you grew.

“Um. Hello,” you managed to say.

Dr. Banner took a deep breath. A thin smile replaced his shaking expression. “Hi.”

“[Name] is here to pick up the grapefruit. She brought us some coconuts, too,” Pepper explained. 

“Yes,” you said quickly, and shoved the bag of coconuts onto the counter with the rest of the fruit. “I did.”

“Thank you,” said Dr. Banner.

“I can’t apologize enough for the inconvenience.”

“Don’t worry about it. Mistakes happen.”

Pepper frowned at this–so quickly that afterward you thought you probably imagined it. The next moment, she pulled two heaving bags of grapefruit over to you. “Can you get these down to the curb all right by yourself?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

She took you at your word and watched as you took one in each arm. “Well, I look forward to seeing you again. Tell your grandmother hello for me.”

“I will.” You bent your legs, since you had no other way to signal your goodbye, and headed back toward the door and the elevator. “Have a nice day.”

“You, too!” Pepper called as the door swung shut.

******

Forty-five minutes and nearly $65 later, another taxi deposited you on the steps of an old but well-kept artist loft far from Stark Tower. Of course, Mr. Banner didn’t live on the island of Manhattan. No, he had to live in New York City proper. As impressive as his dedication to your grandmother’s store was, you couldn’t help but feel you were losing more money by driving around the entire city for a few bags of fruit then you would gain by keeping him around.

You paid the cabby and picked up your grapefruit just before the taxi tore away from the doorstep. There was barely enough time for you to close the door. It seemed that everyone that day was determined to make sure you finished your tasks. Eager to get them done with yourself, you walked up the steps and rang the doorbell. It echoed quietly from within and five minutes later the door was thrown open and away from you.

“What do you want?” Mr. Banner demanded. He had ditched the brightly patterned golf clothes. Instead, he wore a dark blue bathrobe over a white t-shirt, striped boxers, and a pair of fluffy, sky-colored slippers.

“Hello, sir,” you said, although his manner already had your palms dripping sweat. “I came by to bring your grapefruits.”

“Grapefruit! Well, it’s about damn time.”

He lifted his arms. Wondering if he would be able to carry the bags himself, you only hesitantly handed them over, but he bore the weight easily and remained on the doorstep glowering at you.

“I’m very sorry, sir. Yesterday was my first day, you see, and I’m not used to running a business. Nana’s store is very popular and I was the only one working there…I just lost track of things. I’m really sorry. I won’t let it happen again."

Mr. Banner regarded you angrily for a moment, then said, "You need help!”

He slammed the door. You turned away with a sigh to find yourself another cab. "What else is new?" you grumbled. Because all these years later? Absolutely nothing was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know. Pepper was CEO of Stark Industries at this point of time. In my defense, she _had_ quit in _Iron Man 2_ and the movie that made it clear that she remained in her position ( _Iron Man 3_ ) hadn't been released at the time of my writing this. I assure you that I do not make a habit of demoting her in other works.


	4. With Friends like These

Bruce waited until he heard the faint churning of the elevator before he took a deep breath a ducked back into the laboratory. Things there remained in exactly the same place, almost as if he had never left to begin with. Tony stood in one dimmed corner, his brown eyes narrowing and widening as he poked at one of the screens hanging in midair. Probably still busy trying to find that error in the programming code. No one wanted JARVIS to get a virus, after all. Busy was how Bruce preferred Tony at the moment. Bruce's heart was hammering hard enough to be a threat, and his friend's distraction would give him some time to focus on peeling the skin from his orange until his pulse slowed somewhat. 

Of course, Tony could never be deterred for long. Not if he knew doing so would be of some convenience to someone else. “Hey,” he said with a glance in Bruce’s direction. “Bring me back a snack?”

“Sorry, no.”

“What, we out of grapefruit already?”

Bruce chuckled, slowly pulling pith of the fruit in his hand. After his chance encounter with the grocery woman, his appetite seemed to have flown south for the winter. Tony, if he found out, would just laugh–or worse, want to fix it. The silence would probably be a hint, though, so Bruce rolled his eyes at the ceiling and spoke as casually as he could:

“Dinner will be in a couple of hours.”

“You know I don’t do meals.”

“You should. Pepper gets annoyed when the food gets sent back.”

“By annoyed, do you mean ‘hot and bothered’?”

“You’re impossible.”

“As impossible as you when you’re trying to avoid being questioned about something?”

Bruce looked up to see Tony staring straight at him. There wasn’t a smile on the man’s face, although he didn’t look particularly concerned either. Trouble. Definitely trouble. After a quick, nervous twitch of his mouth, Bruce went back to his orange. By then, most of the fruit was exposed, but he still needed something to do with his hands.

“Bruce. C’mon. What happened? Did Pepper say something?” Tony asked.

“About what?” He shook his head. “Pepper wouldn’t say anything to bother me.”

“Then what happened? You’re being all secretive.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Tony–”

“Bruce.”

His brown eyes swept up once again toward the ceiling. No cobwebs, but that wasn’t the point. A sharp breath slipped from between his lips as Bruce lifted a hand and tugged it agitatedly through his curly hair. “Really, Tony. It isn’t anything. Let’s just make sure this update of yours won’t wreak any havoc. The last thing we need is JARVIS going rogue.”

“The problem isn’t _that_ bad.” Tony walked toward Bruce, whose eyes skittered back toward his forgotten snack. “Just tell me, or I’ll have to get Fury to lend me some of that truth serum.”

“Fury doesn’t have access to truth serum.”

“You don’t know that, so the threat stands.”

The two of them stood like that, only a foot a part, for nearly an entire minute. In the expectant silence, Bruce tried desperately to concoct a believable lie. Dozens entered his mind, but fluttered out just as quickly. It wasn’t easy to lie to man like Tony Stark. With orange pith covering his fingers, Bruce took a moment to shift the fruit to his other hand before he finally spoke:

“I just…” He shrugged and looked down at the empty black counter next to him. “Ran into someone in the kitchen. It was no big deal.”

Tony leaned one elbow on said counter. “A workman?”

“No, I–I’m just being stupid. Forget it, Tony.”

“No, I will not forget it,” Tony said as he wagged a stern finger in Bruce’s face. “I want you to _like_ living here. Spit it out, big man.”

Bruce heaved a sigh so heavy that his shoulders dropped an inch. When Tony continued to watch him expectantly, he waved his orange in the air and then answered, “The girl. From the grocery store.”

“Yeah, Pepper said she was coming over.” Tony’s brow furrowed with confusion. “What’s the matter?”

“You couldn’t have told me?”

“Why would I?”

“So I could have avoided her?”

The furrows deepened. “I don’t follow.”

The orange traveled from one hand to the other then back again as Bruce took several deep breaths. Tony wasn’t going to appreciate what he was about to say. But if Bruce _didn’t_ say it, Tony wasn’t going to let up. He was well and truly tapped.

“I don’t want people knowing where I live, Tony,” Bruce said slowly, almost reluctantly. 

Tony’s dark eyes narrowed as he arched his eyebrows and pulled up one corner of his mouth. “Bruce–” he began.

“Tony, don’t.” Bruce shook his head, and, finally, pulled out a segment of orange and placed it in his mouth. “I know you think I’m being silly, but trust me. I’m not.”

While he waited for Tony to come up with a rational response, Bruce bit down. Juice flooded his mouth, assuring him that, yes, his appetite had entirely left him. Seven months with no military after him didn’t mean that he could just get over his life patterns. Already his brain buzzed with packing plans, thoughts of how to get out of the country without notice, questions of where he could go that he had not been already.

“Why is it so bad that the grocery girl saw you?” Tony wanted to know.

“I…” Bruce paused, his now empty mouth working at some unformed answer. He’d already been over the problem with Tony time and time again. At first, things had been okay, but Tony wouldn’t stop pushing. Bruce knew, really, that all Tony wanted was what was good for him, but in that case, he couldn’t be more _wrong_ about what was good for Bruce. “What if she tells someone?” he asked at last.

Tony’s eyebrows raised nearly into his hairline. “Who’s she going to tell?”

“One of her customers? Some news program? The military?” Bruce walked twitchily around the counter and took another bite of orange. 

“Who does she know that’s in the military?” Tony wanted to know. “She works at a fruit stand.”

“You don’t know if she doesn’t know anyone in the military.”

“Why would she tell anyone? She doesn’t know who you are.”

“You can’t know that.”

“But I can make an educated guess.”

“That’s not enough!” Bruce froze as a familiar ripple of heat ran along the length of his body. His heart pounded raggedly in his ears; red seemed to swim across his vision. He squeezed his eyes shut and counted to ten. One of the nice things about Tony was that Bruce could get as agitated as he wanted. Tony wouldn’t run or lock him up or call anyone in to "take care of things." But if Bruce let his moment of anger pass, all the little things that happened afterward would be in danger of setting him off just as badly. He didn’t want to repay Tony for his freedom by grinding him into a greasy smear on the floor.

After about thirty seconds, Bruce opened his eyes. Tony remained right where he had left him, looking entirely nonchalant as he drew patterns with his fingers on the surface of the table. “Everything under control?”

“Yeah,” Bruce said, although his voice shook. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me.”

“I know. But I still want to.”

“If you must,” Tony said in his most pained voice. “At any rate, you were saying that my educated guess–which, if you look at how often my educated guesses prove right, is true–isn’t enough for you.”

“Can’t we talk about something else now?”

“Not until we solve this problem, big guy.”

“Look, I just feel more comfortable being anonymous. I like being here. I can work on all these projects, talk to you and Pepper, sleep underneath a roof every night. But I can’t do those things if anyone finds out where I’m at. They’ll send people to take me. They always do.”

“And we’ve got measures in place to take care of that. Fury isn’t going to let anyone come after you either.”

“I trust Fury about as far as I can throw him–as do you, as if I have to remind you.”

“No reminder necessary. But still. What can we do to convince you it’s safe here?”

“You can’t.”

“Bruce, you can’t live the life of a hermit forever.”

“Sure I can.”

Tony gave him a look-one of those that he was so adept at making, the kind that made everyone around him feel like a kindergartner, no matter their IQ. “No, you can’t.”

“And why not?”

“Because I said so.”

Bruce lifted his eyes heavenward. At least that seemed to be the end of it, for Tony fell silent, his gaze locked onto a diagram pinned to the back wall. Before Tony spoke again, Bruce’s orange disappeared into his butterfly-filled stomach. Once the last bite was swallowed, he rubbed his hands and glanced back over toward the lab table he’d abandoned nearly thirty minutes ago. Perhaps it was time to take another crack at that formula.

“A-ha!” Tony interrupted any such plans by snapping and throwing a triumphant finger toward the ceiling. “I’ve got it!”

“Got what?” Bruce asked. He didn’t like the sound of that.

“An idea.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes!” Tony strode around the table and took Bruce by the shoulders. “You are going to go out on a date.”

“ _What_?” Bruce asked, after an appropriate amount of stunned silence.

“It’s brilliant–as are all of my ideas, really. We’re going to set you up on a date with the grocery girl. You go out, you talk, you find out she doesn’t have any plans to get you locked up in some high-tech cage, you kiss, you have sex, you go home happy.”

One by one, Bruce peeled Tony’s hands off his shoulders. “No.”

“Why not?” Tony demanded in a tone that suggested he might have stomped his foot at the same time, had he been a fourteen-year-old girl.

“Because I don’t _want_ to talk, kiss, _or_ have sex with her.”

“Why not?” Tony repeated.

“Why would I? I don’t even _know_ this girl.”

“Thus the date. Pardon the colloquial, but, _duh_.”

“I’m not going out on a date, Tony. Not with the girl from the grocery store, not with the secretary downstairs, not with one of your interns, not with anyone.”

“Oh, come on. Why not?”

This time, Bruce gave Tony one of his own looks of extreme disbelief. “Have you met my enormous green rage monster?”

“When was the last time you had an incident again?”

“It doesn’t matter. The point is that he’s always there.”

“That’s not the only reason you won’t go,” said Tony shrewdly.

“Oh? And what’s the other reason?”

“You’re still not over Betty.”

Bruce’s heart sped again in his chest, but this time it was not with anger. For a moment, the room seemed to spin. Then he leaned his back against the table and crossed his arms over his chest. “No,” he said simply, “I’m not.”

“And that’s why you _need_ this. I’m not asking you to _marry_ this lady or anything. I just think it would be a good idea if you went out and had a bit of fun. Betty is happy now, isn’t she? You can’t spend your whole life punishing yourself for disappointing her.”

“There are an awful lot of things I’m not allowed to do according to you.”

“Right.” Tony didn’t argue. “And one of those things is weaseling out of this date.”

“I’m not going on a date.”

“You are if I say you are.”

At last, Bruce had had enough. He threw his hands up in the air and stalked from the room. “I’m going to talk to Pepper. At least _she’s_ sane.”

“Sane is relative term, Bruce!” Tony shouted after him. 

Bruce, however, had disappeared, already off on his quest to find someone to complain about Tony to. But it was too late. No one ever could discourage Tony once he’d made his mind up about something.


	5. Wrong Place, Wrong Time, Wrong Life

Five o’ clock Wednesday morning arrived far too quickly for your tastes. After a day of biking up and down Manhattan, you needed _at least_ eight hours of sleep to recoup. You did not have eight hours. There were meals to cook, catheters to empty, grandparents to bathe, bills to pay, and not enough time in a single night to get all that done done. The alarm blared almost as soon as you hit the mattress, and, once awake, you could not stop yawning into the dark morning.

The keys to the shop jangled loudly as you fumbled through them in the silence. One by one, they slid into the opening on the door, only to fail you in your time of need. That one was for the register, this for the freezer, another for the display cases in the window. Just how many keys did a hole-in-the-wall grocery store _need_? A groan ground out from between your teeth as you picked out a dingy-looking copper number from the line and pushed it in with more force than was necessary. Thankfully, the tightness growing in your chest faded away as that key twisted easily in place, unlatching the door.

Another yawn nearly cracked your jaw as you stumbled inside, then smacked up the switch near the door. The white lights above your head flickered dimly on and off until they settled into a blaring glow that lit up each and every near-empty shelf. In-between days were supposed to be used for proper restocking, but what with your adventuring the day before, you just hadn’t had the time. What else was new? You dumped your purse in a cabinet, used yet another key to lock it in, then wandered to the back.

Cardboard boxes nearly filled the tiny room to bursting. Of course, most people didn’t come to Nana’s store to purchase canned goods, but she insisted on keeping such a stock anyway. You’d never thought you’d be thankful for that, until Monday happened and customers had entirely depleted your wears. With three hours to go until opening, you decided you had better get started.

Your fingers dug into one edge of the box. Too heavy for you to lift properly, the box remained squarely where it was. You scowled. If there was one thing you would not fail at, it would be being a grocery store employee. Bending, you took the box in both hands before you heaved it toward the end of the pyramid.

_Crash!_

“Oh, _come on_!”

The box fell to the ground and sat there, quite unmoved by your situation. Your face twisted up. _Fine_. Dragging it all the way out to the front it was. You walked around the box, pressed your palms against it, and pushed. Cardboard rasping against a concrete floor was not a pleasant sound, but ten minutes later, you managed to shove your cans past the cash register and halfway across the yellow-and-blue checkered tiles to the shelves.

“What do you think _you’re_ doing?”

You screamed. Well, why wouldn’t you? It was five-thirty in the morning, and the door was locked. Suddenly, some man was in there with you? The keys still dangling from your apron pocket came darting upward as you spun around to face your assailant. Then you felt...disappointment? Relief? You weren’t sure which. Probably neither, because the gentleman was none other than Mr. Banner.

Your chest relaxed as you let out a sigh, though the beating of your heart did not slow. The keys slipped back into your pocket. You narrowed your eyes, but Nana’s presence spoke to you as clearly as a shoulder angel: _“Don’t be impolite to the customers.”_

“The store does not open until eight, sir,” is what came out of your mouth, instead of a demand that he vacate the premises immediately.

“You think I don’t know that? Haven’t even got the place set up yet.”

“I am getting right on that, _sir_.” You couldn’t help the way your lips curled around the last word. It was far too early and you were running on far too little sleep to want to deal with any of that man’s bitching.

He snorted. “Doing a fine job of it, too. At this rate, maybe you’ll be ready to open by next July.”

He was pushing you too far. At that point, you couldn’t have cared less if he took every single damn grapefruit in the store and refused to pay for it. You whirled back around with a dramatic throwing of you hands into the air. “Whatever. What are you doing here, anyway?”

“You need help.”

You didn’t bother to respond to that as you took out your set of keys for a fourth time and ripped them through the tape sealing the box. Twenty-four silver circles peeked up at you from the depths of the cardboard.

“Yeah,” you grunted at last. “You said that a couple of days ago. If you’re only going to make pokes at my mental health, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Already did a fine job of that, sweetheart.”

It was clear by the way that Mr. Banner said sweetheart that he didn’t mean it. You turned back toward him as you swept some hair out of your face. “Sir, how may I help you today? Because I really do not have time to banter with you right now.”

The man looked at you hard, then planted his feet better on the floor. “I’m not asking you to banter.”

“Then what do you need, sir?”

“I said you need help.” He paused as if daring you to argue otherwise. “I’m here to help.”

Your brain chugged to a stop for a good ten seconds. Then your chin dipped forward. “What?”

“Not the brightest girl on the block, are you?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

Mr. Banner rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “I am _saying_ that I am here to help you set up for the day.”

A wild laugh spun from your lips. “Yeah, right.”

“That’s no way to talk to an employee, young lady.”

“You’re _not_ an employee. My grandmother would never allow it. Only family, that’s what she says. Now, if you don’t mind, I have about eight tons worth of cream of mushroom soup to place out for today’s sale.”

You didn’t wait for Mr. Banner to answer. This was fine, because he didn't say another word. Without really thinking about what you were doing–or much of anything at all–you pulled each can out and set them in neat lines on the wood.

Another box slammed into the floor next to your fingers. You started, looking up to see Mr. Banner scowling down at you.

“What?” you asked flatly.

“You’re welcome,” he barked.

A frown pulled deeply at the corners of your mouth. "How did you even get inside? The front door is supposed to be locked until eight.”

Without stopping his own frown, Mr. Banner reached into his back pocket to pull out a single key identical to one of your own. He let it dangle right in front of your eyes.

“Doris asked me to mind the store while she was in the hospital.” The key disappeared back inside his pocket. “It seems that she never bothered to ask me to return the spare.”

You heaved a huge sigh and got to your feet. Old men were so _stubborn_. Papa had been the same way. Your eyes barely managed to meet Mr. Banner’s green ones as you pointed back toward the door.

“Mr. Banner, please leave. Please. I’m begging you.”

“Why? So you can ruin this shop? People in this city _like_ shopping here.”

“I’m not trying to ruin anything!” You actually stomped your foot as you said this. “I am trying to run this place like my grandmother asked me to!”

His wispy eyebrows rose. “Oh? “And how do you plan to do that when you can barely lift a box on your own?”

“I don’t know.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t know!”

“Exactly," he said, "you _don’t_ know. You don’t know the first thing about running a business. No one can do this alone.”

“Sir–”

“You need help.”

“I _know_ I need help! But Nana isn’t going to go for it. Family only–that’s what she says. Unfortunately, _I’m_ the only family she’s got.”

“So?”

“So…” You trailed away. “I can’t afford to pay you, Mr. Banner. Nana would notice the difference.”

Mr. Banner glowered stonily down at you. 

You shook your head and gave him a weak shrug of your shoulders. “I’m sorry.” And you were. Being able to hire out would be a dream come true–though you had to admit you probably wouldn’t even glance at this guy's application.

The man only huffed. A threat to call the police disappeared back down your throat as he walked back over to the door. Relief flooded your limbs, but perhaps too soon. Mr. Banner paused at the door, then swiveled back toward you.

“Don’t think this is over. I’ll be back.”

“We appreciate your business, sir.”

He didn’t have an answer to that. Mr. Banner simply disappeared back out into the dark street. With your shoulders hunched and tight behind you, you started to unload the second box. Mr. Banner would be back? Sure. Probably with some class-action lawsuit that would bankrupt you and the store. If only, you thought. If only…

After that, the day progressed much like Monday. Customers swarmed in waves in and out the door. You had to sprint back and forth to take care of everything. When someone needed meat sliced for a company meeting, you did that. When a child threw up in front of the candy display, you cleaned it up, stopping only to check out four customers with sticks of gum and newspapers. No time for thinking, only for work. Maybe that was best, given your circumstances.

Things finally calmed down when you turned the sign to "closed" for lunch. Fifteen minutes, that was all you had. Probably best to spend it taking out the bruised apples and sending out a request for more lamb chops. But all those thoughts went racing out through your ears when the phone beneath the cash register rang.

Immediately, your blood ran cold. Nana? Was she okay? Had she fallen? Had the doctor found something _else _wrong? Your feet pounded against the tile as you ran for the phone. You wrenched it out of its cradle and up to your ear.__

__“Nana? Is everything okay?” you asked, panicked.._ _

__“Um,” said a thoroughly male voice. “Is this [F Name] [L Name]? With ‘The Stand’ store?”_ _

__“Yes,” you answered in a rush. “Is Nana okay?”_ _

__“I haven’t the faintest idea who Nana is, but I would assume that she is fine at the moment.”_ _

__“Who is this?”_ _

__“Who is _this_?” the mystery man asked in turn._ _

__“I already told you who I am. If this is a prank call, I don’t have to take it.”_ _

__“No, no prank here. Actually, I have a proposition for you.”_ _

__“I’d be more likely to listen if you gave me a name."_ _

__The man blew static down the phone line. “I’m Tony Stark.”_ _

__“Yeah. Sure. And I’m Beyoncé.”_ _

__“I seriously doubt that. Are you really one of the only women in America that can’t recognize my voice over the phone?”_ _

__“I guess,” you sighed as you propped one elbow onto the counter. Your fingers threaded absentmindedly through the cord between them. “And I guess I’ll believe you, too, since I delivered some coconuts to your place yesterday.”_ _

__“Yes, and I’d thank you, except for the fact that my girlfriend got to them first.”_ _

__“Yeah, that’s not really my problem.”_ _

__“You’re not exactly polite, are you?”_ _

__“Would you like to just get to the point, sir? I have ten minutes left in my lunch break.”_ _

__“Fine, fine. I was only trying to get to know you. Pepper says I have a problem with ignoring the help.”_ _

__“Gee, that’s flattering,” you said in a deadpan._ _

__“Okay, okay. Here’s the thing. I’ve got a friend. He’s single. You’re single. You do the math.”_ _

__“I don’t think I ever said I was single.”_ _

__“You didn't _have_ to say. I can tell.”_ _

__“And why would I want to go out with someone that can’t even be bothered to ask me out themselves?”_ _

__“Because I happen to know that if I call your grandmother and claim that you never delivered my coconuts yesterday, she’ll take my word over yours," he answered in a bland sort of tone._ _

__Despite the tone, you shot up like a rocket. “You _wouldn’t_!”_ _

__“Oh, but I would.”_ _

__“What did I ever do to you?”_ _

__“Nothing. Well, unless you count just sort of existing around me. Don’t worry, I’ve outsmarted much cleverer people than you.”_ _

__“I never agreed–”_ _

__“But you will. Don’t want to disappoint your grandmother, do you?”_ _

__“This is blackmail.”_ _

__“I never claimed to play fair," Tony said._ _

__“And you’re so desperate to get me out on a date because…?”_ _

__“Look, I’m not asking for much. I just want you to go to dinner with the guy. For all you know, you might actually have fun.”_ _

__You bit your lip, eyes sliding toward the glass front of the store. Already a crowd of people milled around outside it. Presumably they all wanted in buy sandwich meat. Did you _really_ want to go home every night and spend the evening watching the news with Nana? No. And you wanted to get in trouble with her even less. With a defeated sigh, you slumped back onto the counter, one hand shielding your eyes from the gazes coming from outside._ _

__“When?” you asked._ _

__“Friday night,” Tony said, sounding just as genial as he had during the most of the phone call. “I’ll text you the place once I think of a good one.”_ _

__“You don’t have my cellphone number.”_ _

__“I’m pretty sure I can get it if you won’t give it to me. Or I could just call Nana and ask.”_ _

__Your fist ground itself against the flat surface beneath you. “Fine.” You snapped out the number. Three minutes to opening and you still hadn’t eaten._ _

__“See? That wasn’t too hard.”_ _

__“Mr. Stark, if I’m going on a date with you–”_ _

__“Oh, don’t worry. You’re definitely not _my_ type.”_ _

__“Gee, thanks.”_ _

__“Not at all. I’ll talk to you soon. Bye!”_ _

__“Wai–”_ _

__But the phone on the other end clicked, and left you perhaps more confused than you had been all day._ _


	6. Seeing Eye Date

Tony ended his call to you with a flourish just as the elevator at the other end of the room whooshed opened. What with the way you talked, one might think he was _bothering_ you or something. And a _landline_? What time period did you live in? The middle ages? It was hard enough talking to people on the phone without being unable to see their face.

Pepper interrupted Tony's train of thought by stepping out of the gaping elevator. For a moment, Tony perked up. Then he caught sight of the large stack of letters in her hands.

“Ugh,” Tony groaned, and flopped dramatically back on the couch. “Do we _have_ to go through my fan mail today, Pepper? I’m really not in the mood.”

She answered with a question of her own. “Who were you talking to just now?” The letters remained tightly in Pepper’s hand as she drew nearer and sat herself on the couch next to him. “And of course we have to go through your fan mail. You know the mailman said he wouldn’t deliver _any_ mail if he kept finding our box overflowing like that.”

“But we went through _two-hundred_ letters yesterday!”

“Yes, and the mail came again today. It does that every day except Sunday, you see.”

“Why can’t we just send them all an autographed picture of my face? That’s all they want anyway.” It was true. As flattering as it was supposed to be that he was a big hero now, it got really tedious signing his name so many times. Much more quickly than Tony had expected, he might add.

“Not _all_ of them.”

Tony threw an arm over his face. He didn’t even want to think about those other letters. “Pepper, let’s just not talk about all the illegitimate heir claims, okay?”

“You’re avoiding my question.” Damn, she was observant. Why had he gone out and got himself such an observant girlfriend again? Pepper sat the envelopes down on the glass coffee table and shifted so that one of her legs was beneath her. “Was that [F Name] [L Name]?”

Tony’s eye peeked out from beneath his arm. “Why?” The arm fell back into his lap as Tony smirked. “Are you jealous?”

Without waiting for an answer, Tony leaned over to kiss Pepper’s neck. She pushed him away, though a smile remained on her face. Buzz kill. “No, I’m worried that you’re setting up a date even though Bruce specifically asked you not to.”

He shrugged her off and leaned forward to snatch the letters off the table. The rubber band binding them pulled away with a sharp snap. “He doesn’t know what’s good for him.”

“Oh, and you do? Mister I-Don’t-Need-Anyone-Else?”

“Hey, I’ll thank you to remember that I’m over that little phase.”

“Sure, sure,” said Pepper casually. 

Tony gave her a look, but as usual, it completely failed to unnerve the woman. Instead, she took the letters from him and held them firmly in her own lap. Apparently it was time to pay attention, not try to figure out if he could incorporate rubber bands into the device he was making just to annoy Clint.

“Bruce needs to realize the entire world isn’t against him,” Tony said.

“And you plan to show him this...with a date.”

“Yes…No…Well…”

“Speechless, Mr. Stark?”

“Not at all, Miss Potts.”

“Then why are you making him go out when he doesn't want to?”

Tony rubbed at his eyes. Late nights in the lab did not an easy day make. It was hard to remember that at three in the morning, though, and keeping Bruce up that late had been absolutely crucial to the plan. Tony couldn’t risk him running in on that little phone call. Better that he sleep until lunch.

“He just…needs to get out more. She seems like a nice enough girl–safe, anyway. No idea who he is, by the sound of things. Maybe if he goes out and sees the world a bit, he’ll feel better.” Pepper stared steadily at Tony, causing him to shift uncomfortably. “What?” he asked. “I’m not wrong.”

“I’m not saying you are. I think it’s sweet that you care so much about Bruce.”

“But you still think I shouldn’t have done that.”

Pepper took a deep breath before fixing him with another blue stare. “I think you should listen to Bruce’s wishes a little more often, but you’re going to do whatever you think best anyway.”

Tony cracked a wide smile and pulled Pepper in closer to his side. He kissed her cheek before continuing. “So you’re not going to tell him?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“How do you plan on getting him there?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Miss Potts.” This time he kissed her on top of her head. “I have a plan for every eventuality.”

“Why was I afraid that you’d say that?”

******

Friday night couldn’t have come too soon–or too late. Going on your blind date was going to be agony, you knew that, but _anything_ was better than constantly working at Nana’s tiny grocery store. By the time the sun set that day, you’d dealt with ten straight angry calls and were frazzled beyond belief. Not that anyone could tell, after your shower and the twenty minutes you’d spent doing your hair.

A part of you felt silly for putting so much effort into seeing someone you probably wouldn’t bother seeing again. From the news clips you’d caught since his phone call, it was clear that you and Tony Stark did _not_ run in the same moral circles, let alone social. Still, your first date in a year was a special occasion and you were starting to a feel at least "pretty," despite the trepidation you felt at actually attending.

The heels on your shoes clacked against the wooden floor as you walked up to the front door. From behind you, you could hear the _Jeopardy_ theme song playing quietly. You swung your usual (and only) purse from the closet knob and onto your shoulder before you noticed something was wrong.

The music had stopped. A quick look at your watch told you that you definitely weren’t late. It was only 7:00. Nana shouldn’t have been headed to bed that early. Slowly, and with butterflies rising in waves from your stomach, you turned on the spot.

Nana sat in her wheelchair right in front of you, her head cocked slightly to the left. She was sucking on her teeth, too, and widening her brown eyes in your direction.

“[Name]?” she said. “Where are you going?”

“Oh,” you said in a would-be-casual voice. “Out.”

“Out where?”

The purse slipped from your shoulder, but you caught the strap with your hand as you rolled your eyes. “I have a date, Nana.”

“A date?” Her faded eyebrows disappeared into her hair. “With _who_?”

“I don’t know.” You had to work to keep the exasperated edge from your voice. Nana had caught you; you’d probably be twenty minutes late, if you managed to arrive at all. “It’s a blind date.”

“And where are you going?”

Sometimes, it couldn’t be clearer that Nana thought you were still seventeen. For a moment, you didn’t answer, as you were too busy digging around in your purse to find your cell phone. Once you did, you took another half a second to find the text you were looking for, then leveled the screen into Nana’s face.

“26 Seats.”

Her brown eyes narrowed suspiciously behind her glasses’ lenses. “That sounds expensive.”

“I have money, Nana.” She opened her mouth, but you cut her off. “My own, from Washington. Not from the store. Mr. Stark assured me that food would be in my price range.”

If you expected Nana to be surprised that Tony Stark had set you up on a date, you would have been disappointed. Instead, her frown simply deepened.

“But who’s going to look after _me_? My nurse leaves the minute you come home, you know, and _I_ never heard you ask her to come back this evening.”

“What else is there to do? You’ve had dinner. You’re in your pajamas. I’m only going to stay until ten, if even that. I’ll be home in time to get you to bed.”

“Why didn’t you ask me if you could go out?”

You inhaled sharply, then let out a slow breath before you spoke again. “Nana, I am twenty-nine. I don’t have to ask your permission to go out on dates.”

“You live in this house, [Name]. I expect certain courtesies to be taken into consideration.”

It really wasn’t worth the fight–not a date you didn’t even want to go on, really. You shook your head before Nana could launch into full-on lecture mode and opened the front door.

“Yes, and if I ever go on another date, I will make sure to take it up with you before I agree.” You stepped outside and waved your purse in her direction. “Have a nice evening! I’ll be back by ten.”

******

The cab ride to 168 Avenue B was anything but fun. Friday nights were busy and the roads were so congested that your cabby nearly killed you no less than twelve times. When you stumbled out of the cab and shoved his money over to him, you were actually _relieved_ to find yourself at the front of the restaurant. Any questions as to whether or not the building was the correct destination were quickly answered by the large "26" in the window.

By then, it was quite dark. Warm squares of orange fell onto the pavement from the inside, but outside the only lights came from the quick, white flashes from cars and the string of Christmas lights draped across the awning. You took a moment to smooth down your skirt. What you were wearing was more job interview material than date night fare–but it was all you had, and beggars in Washington State could not be choosers. 

You looked as nice as you could manage, so you took a step toward the small, fenced off patio. A shadow moved that direction at the same time you did and there wasn’t enough time to stop. The owner of that shadow bounced off you, then you both froze as you got a good look at the other’s faces.

“Dr. Banner?” you asked.

“Oh, hey.” He let out a nervous chuckle. “It’s…[Name], right?”

“Yeah, hi. What are you doing here?”

"Uh, Tony invited me. I’m late, so he’s probably already inside,” he said, trialing off at the end, like he wasn't sure that was information you ought to be privy to.

“Oh.” Oh, no. Your heat sank all the way into your stomach. Something about this smelled fishy, and it wasn't Dr. Banner's cologne.

“What are _you_ here for?”

“I’m…meeting someone that Mr. Stark asked me to come meet.” 

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip as you waited for Dr. Banner’s reaction. Maybe Mr. Stark really _had_ scheduled something with the man at the same time as your date. You wouldn’t put it past him to spy on you. Still, it seemed awfully suspect, especially as soon as Dr. Banner’s eyebrows raised an inch-and-a-half above his eyes.

“Tony isn’t coming, is he?” he asked.

You shook your head and answered weakly, “I don’t think so.”

Dr. Banner took a step backward and clasped his hands together. “Why am I surprised?”

“You mean he didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me?” He laughed–and he didn’t sound amused. “I should have known he would pull something like this. Tony said something about making me go on a date with you and here we are. I underestimated him.” Dr. Banner shook his head. “I should really stop doing that.”

“I’m–I’m sorry.” Though you weren’t exactly sure why _you_ were apologizing. Not that it was Dr. Banner’s fault either, but Nana was back home stewing and you had nothing to show for your one big night on the town.

“Don’t be. Look, I’m really sorry you got all caught up in this. I’ll go back to the tower and talk to him. We won’t bother you anymore.”

You took a deep breath, then released it as you nodded. “Well, I can’t exactly go home right now, so I think I’m going to go eat. Have fun convincing that guy, though. He sounds like a _real_ keeper.”

“That obvious, huh?” Dr. Banner smiled weakly. 

“Well, if a man can irritate someone _this_ much with just a phone call and a couple of texts…”

“That sounds like Tony.”

“He’s not really going to stop bothering me, is he?”

This time, when Dr. Banner laughed, he sounded like he meant it. “Probably not. No one can control that guy.”

“Not even Miss Potts?”

“Not that she doesn’t try.”

You heaved another sigh, then took a step back toward 26 Seats. “Well, Dr. Banner, I wish you luck tonight. I’m going to get dinner.”

“Wait.”

The words, for whatever reason, made you pause and look back at him. Dr. Banner looked so small, standing there on the pavement. Small and kind of scruffy. Was he really the sort of person _Tony Stark_ hung out with it?

"Yes?” you asked.

“Look, this _is_ kind of my fault. Tony just did this because he’s trying to get me to be more social," he said.

“Okay,” you said slowly.

“If it’s all right with you, can we go ahead and have dinner? It _might_ get him off my back for a week.”

You hunched your shoulders and pressed your purse to your chest. “Dr. Banner, I only agreed to come do this because Mr. Stark threatened to lie to my grandmother if I didn’t. I’m not really looking for any sort of relationship right now. I’m honestly just trying to survive.”

Your words didn’t deter him. Though he continued to rub his hands together, Dr. Banner walked up the path and pulled the door gently open. He gestured inside. “That makes two of us.”


	7. Dead on Arrival

For several minutes, Bruce felt very foolish. Not that being tricked into arriving for a blind date with a woman that was equally blind had made him feel very intelligent to begin with...but nothing quite matched up with the awkwardness of standing in front of a restaurant with a door opened for a woman that quite clearly didn’t want to go inside. Perhaps, he hoped, you would refuse. He could imagine going back to Stark Tower then. _"Sorry, Tony. You tricked her and she didn’t appreciate it. Better luck next time!"_

Then again, there was no way to make sure there wouldn’t _be_ a next time. Not with Tony around. Not even actually going on a date would be enough to get Tony off his back. It would be better for everyone involved if you just said no.

“Sure,” you said after a minute of standing there. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Bruce murmured in response. You ducked inside the building without bothering to meet his eyes. As he followed and allowed the door to swing shut behind him, he could only shake his head and say in an equally love voice, “India is starting to look _really_ good right now.”

Thankfully, neither you nor the hostess heard what undoubtedly would have been construed as the ramblings of the insane. He flashed a nervous smile in your general direction before coming to a stop right in front of the podium.

“How many?” asked the young woman. Her eyes wavered gently between himself and you. 

Without thinking, Bruce clasped his hands together and wet his lips. Her looking at him meant nothing. She didn’t know who he was. No need to worry. All he needed to do was focus and get through dinner so he could go back to Stark Tower and snap at Tony.

“Two,” he said, and winced when he noted a slight quake in his voice. Just a restaurant, just a meal out. He’d used to do that all the time. Admittedly without the other guy, but what was there to get overly emotional over at a restaurant? The soup?

“Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asked. 

“Um…” Bruce looked at you. Catching his gaze, you nodded and said:

“It should be under Stark?”

The woman’s blue eyes moved quickly down a piece of paper in front of her. Soon after, she nodded and looked back up at you and Bruce. “Right this way.”

Bruce looked at you, but you kept your gaze to the side of his face as you took a step backward. Clearly, _he_ was supposed to take the lead. With one last, deep breath, he followed the hostess through the small building to a tiny table situated in the corner of two red-orange walls.

“Will this be all right?” she asked.

“Yes, thank you,” he said.

The girl set a menu in front of both mismatched chairs before she walked briskly back to the front. At eight o’ clock on a Friday, most of the tables inside were full. In a space so small, Bruce couldn’t suppress the familiar feeling of claustrophobia crawling across his skin. Tony couldn’t have picked better, though obviously _his_ definition of "better" and Bruce's were completely different. The size of the restaurant was probably all part of whatever plan Tony had cooked up at the very last minute.

A polite cough from behind him caused Bruce to realize that he was still standing in the admittedly narrow hallway. It was like he’d never been on a date before. Wonderful. Without wasting any more time, he pulled out a chair and gestured for you to take it. You bit your lip, but sat down without comment.

By the time Bruce took his own seat, he was already wishing he had just gone home. Maybe you liked eating dinner alone and there he was ruining your night. Or maybe, he thought, as he caught your expression as you looked at the menu in your hands, you didn’t like _him_. He didn’t know exactly what to do with that piece of information and let the awkward silence grow to a peak as he looked at his own menu. Tony had at least picked a place with relatively reasonable prices. After Bruce finished looking through the appetizers, however, he simply couldn’t take the quiet any longer.

“Look…Miss [L Name].” Bruce made sure to look you in the eyes as he set his menu back down. “I’m really sorry about this whole situation. I really don’t intend to… _pursue_ you. This wasn’t my idea, but I should have done more to dissuade Tony. I’m sorry.”

You regarded him over the top of your own menu, then set it down on top of his with a sigh. “Don’t worry about it. Sorry if I seem really cranky. It’s not you. I was just thinking about how I _really_ don’t want to go home tonight.”

“Oh. That’s…good?”

Your brow crinkled. “Uh, sure.” The menu again blocked most of your face from view. “This just doesn’t seem worth the fight with my grandma, but that’s not _your_ problem.”

“Sorry,” Bruce offered again.

Thankfully, the waitress arrived right before he could think of any other stupid comments to make. “Are you ready to order?” she asked with a smile. Bruce glanced over at you, but you were already looking at the waitress.

“I just want water to drink,” you said, handing her your menu, “and the Blanc De Poulet Au Porto Et Champignons.”

“All right. And for you, sir?”

“Er, water as well, thank you. I’ll have the Filet De Sole Au Citron Vert, please.”

“We’ll get that right out. If you need anything, I’ll be your server this evening. My name is Wendy.”

“Thank you, Wendy.”

She smiled at him and then wandered back the way she came, leaving Bruce to figure out how to get through the rest of the evening.

No words were spoken between the two of you until the waitress came back with the waters. Then, and only after you had run a finger over the condensation on your glass, you spoke:

“So what do you with Tony Stark, anyway?”

Bruce’s eyebrows lifted as he swallowed a mouthful of water and placed his glass back on the table. His hands disappeared underneath the table. Hopefully you wouldn’t be able to tell how sweaty they were that way.

"What do you mean?” he asked carefully. 

“Do you work there?”

“Uh, yeah. I work with Tony. Why?”

“When I went there a few days ago, they didn’t have you in the system.”

“Oh.” Great. _That_ wouldn’t lead anyone to be suspicious at _all_. All of this for a couple of coconuts. Really, Tony? “Well, I don’t really work _for_ Stark Industries. I just work with Tony in development. He offered me a place to stay. It was the best offer I’d had in a while, so I accepted.”

“What do you two develop?” you asked. 

He couldn’t help chuckling at that. “Is this the usual first date grilling?”

“I suppose, although we _aren’t_ on a first date.”

That slapped the smile off his face. Bruce cleared his throat. “Right. Well, it’s nothing big yet. Lately we’ve been doing repairs on the computer system.” If you asked much more though, he’d be in trouble. Lying would only lead to more lies, and as much as he doubted he would ever see you after the date, he didn’t want to give you any reason to go looking more into him. “And what do _you_ do?”

“I work at a grocery store,” you said flatly. 

“Right…" Okay, that was a stupid question. Way to go, Banner. "But what did you do _before_?”

Suddenly, your face was wiped clean of any emotion. “I’d rather not talk about that, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure!” Bruce said quickly. “Sure. Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.”

Color slowly faded back into your face, as did some expression Bruce couldn’t–and wouldn’t–even try to understand. Your eyes dropped back onto the wooden table and the flickering candle sitting in its center. He shifted his napkin around in his lap before he tried to speak again:

“Do you like it here in Manhattan?”

“It’s okay. I spent a few years here when I was kid, but didn’t see much of it. It’s sort of overwhelming trying to understand it as an adult.”

Again, Bruce smiled.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just–I can totally understand the feeling. I was out of the country for several years before I met Tony.” You mashed your mouth into a straight line. Bruce cocked his head to one side. “You don’t like it here?”

“I only came back because Papa died and Nana got hurt in the accident. _Someone_ needed to look after her.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“I’m the only family she has left.”

“Still."

“It’s nothing great, what I’m doing. What about you? What were you doing out of the country for so long?”

“Traveling.”

“Sounds better than what I’m doing now. Running this shop and looking after Nana.”

“It really wasn’t all that great,” Bruce assured you. Well, he had felt like he was doing some real good for the first time since the Other Guy came along, but other than that? At least Manhattan had mattress and hot showers and a striking lack of pandemics. 

When you looked up again, your gaze was hard. Bruce felt unsettled by it. Why were you so angry all of a sudden? “I don’t _care_ what it was like. It has to be better than how my life is turning out.”

Of course, Bruce couldn’t tell you why you were so incredibly wrong. He wouldn’t wish his life situation on anyone either. Instead, he sighed and watched as the plates of food neared your table.

“Well, Miss [L Name]," he said, "I think we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

******

Never before had you been more relieved to step into Nana’s apartment. The traffic had been so bad that the clock on the oven read 11:15 when you passed by the kitchen entrance. Great, _more_ for Nana to get upset at. The date had been unpleasant enough that you’d have much rather fought with her over whether or not you delivered the fruit than have gone through with meeting anybody for dinner, friend of a patron or no.

"[Name]? Is that you?” Nana’s voice floated down the hallway.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m home!” you called back. None of the lights were on. Coming from an outside with a street post every five feet, you felt a little disoriented. You nearly hit the wall as you stumbled toward the living room. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

Your jacket had only just slipped off your shoulders when you saw Nana in her usual spot by the white couch. The television was still on, but muted so that she could hear you. Her brown eyes flooded with concern as she caught sight of your appearance.

“How was the date?”

“It was okay,” you answered as you walked over and grasped the handles on her wheelchair. “Just some joke Tony Stark set up. The food was good, though.”

“That’s good. Did he pay for it?”

“He offered.” You wheeled her past the dozen or so family portraits lining the walls without so much as looking at them. “I insisted on paying for my own meal though.”

“And you didn’t have fun at all?”

“We barely spoke. Once the food got there, there really wasn’t much else to say.”

Nana nodded as if she understood this. Maybe she did. It wasn't not like Papa was the only person she’d dated in her lifetime. But if she had any gems of advice to give you, she kept them to herself all through changing into her pajamas, brushing her teeth, and washing her face.

“[Name]?” Nana asked as you laid her gently into her bed.

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to see him again?”

The blanket froze in your hands. In the darkness, you stood there with your thoughts drifting sluggishly through the events of the evening. Dr. Banner was the only person you’d gone out with since coming to Manhattan. You desperately wanted to have someone to talk to other than Nana. Had you liked him enough to try and cram dating into your already full schedule, though?

“No. No I'm not going to see him again,” you said at last. 

Nana heaved a content sigh as you tucked her blanket under her chin. The covers rustled as she snuggled a bit into the mattress. “Good,” she said. “I _need_ you, [Name].”

The dark hall loomed before you, but you paused at the doorway.

“I know.”


	8. Second Time's the Charm

“So are you going to see her again?”

Tony’s voice drawled lazily into Bruce’s ear as the latter tried to focus (as he had been all morning) on his and Tony’s portable gamma ray tracker. When Bruce had arrived back at Stark Tower the night before, it was only by sneaking in through the back door that he’d managed to avoid Tony’s incessant questions about how the date actually went. Once morning arrived, though? It was nearly impossible to work, with him piping up every three seconds to pester him about his enormous failure to have _one_ successful night out.

“Bruce.” Tony punctuated his words by jabbing a pen into Bruce’s side. “Hey, Bruce. Are you listening to me?”

“No. I’m not. I haven’t been all morning.”

The apple in Tony’s other hand crunched as the man bit into it. “Why’re you ignoring me?”

“I’m not…ignoring you.”

“Classic passive aggressive behavior, Bruce. Come on. Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill.” Bruce glanced behind him, where Tony was sitting making notes when he wasn’t trying to annoy him to death.

“So are you going to see her again?”

With another shake of his head, Bruce turned back to his worth. “Why do you care so much?”

“I just want to know how my best friend’s date went. Is that a crime?”

“No, but it _is_ annoying.”

“Wow. First I’m insane and now I’m annoying. This day _has_ been productive, and it’s not even 11:00 yet.”

“You were declared insane several days ago, Tony. When was the last time you slept?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“And my ‘date’ is none of yours.”

For several minutes, the lab remained mostly silent, with most of the noise coming from the tiny scraping sounds of Bruce’s project. He allowed himself to briefly imagine that that was the end of the argument. Tony, of course, was too intelligent to let anything drop before _he_ gave the okay.

“Why did you say it like that?” he asked.

Despite everything, Bruce smiled a bit. It was nice to have a friend, even if it was one as unable to let things go as Tony. “Say it like what?”

“‘Date,’” Tony answered. “With quotation marks.”

Clearly, the tracker wasn't going to get anywhere until Tony was satiated. With a heavy sigh, Bruce turned to look at Tony. The former rested his elbows on the counter behind him. “Because it wasn’t a date.”

Tony sat straight up at that. “What do you _mean_ , it wasn’t a date?”

“It wasn’t a date.” Bruce’s eyebrows lifted past the frames of his reading glasses. Before Tony could interject, as he so obviously was going to, Bruce continued, “You tricked her into being there, didn’t you?”

“Did _she_ say that?”

“Yes, but it would have been obvious anyway. She was surprised to see me.”

“I told her it was a blind date. I didn’t trick her into doing anything.”

“Tony, she didn’t want to be there.”

“She didn’t _think_ she wanted to be there.”

“She didn’t want to be there, period.”

“Was the food no good?”

Bruce shook his head and looked at the ceiling. “The food was fine. That wasn’t the point.”

“Then what _was_ the point?”

He took a deep breath before he looked back at Tony. Bruce supposed that he had to give him _some_ benefit of doubt. You didn’t seem like the kind of woman Tony would interact with on a regular basis–but then again, neither was Pepper. Pepper, though…well, no one could say Tony had a grasp on Pepper.

“She just doesn’t want to be in a relationship right now,” Bruce answered carefully.

“You were awkward, weren’t you? I bet you were awkward.”

The words caused Bruce to pace agitatedly toward one of the walls. “Of course I was awkward! I _am_ awkward. Truth be told, _I_ didn’t want to be there either.”

“See? Th–”

“Don’t say that’s the problem, Tony.”

“Bruce, who in this room has the most experience with women?”

Bruce didn’t answer.

“That’s right. Me. And if _I_ say she wanted a date, she wanted a date.”

“Look, Tony.” Bruce looked back over at his friend. Tony sat back and leaned one of his calves against the opposite knee. Obviously, he was expecting a fight–something that Bruce didn’t want to give him but knew was impossible to avoid. All he could do at that point was lift his hands up to his shoulders, palms out. “All I know is, she said she didn’t want to go on a date and when we talked, she seemed really angry.”

“What’d you talk about?”

“I don’t know…Manhattan?”

Tony made a face. “What about Manhattan?”

“What we both are doing here.”

“Did you tell her?”

“I said you offered me a place to stay and a job. By the way, did you not put me in the company records?”

"You _asked_ me not to put you in the company records.”

“But you still had her deliver the coconuts here?”

“Where else would you suggest I have them sent? Russia? So Steve and Natasha could enjoy our fruit?” Tony asked, affronted. 

“Okay, okay." Bruce sighed. "That’s not the point.”

"No, it’s not. What about _her_?”

"She said she didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Then what?”

“She said my life must be better than hers because I travel. The food came, and then…well, there wasn’t anything else to say.”

Tony only stared so incredulously at Bruce that Bruce felt uncomfortable. To avoid feeling worse, he shifted and moved his eyes toward the window. The island of Manhattan stretched out like so many colored blueprints below the tower.

“You didn’t talk to her at _all_ after the meal came?” Tony asked.

“I tried!” Bruce said, walking back to his work. “She didn’t want to talk. That’s why I’m telling you, [Name] doesn’t want to date.”

“Damn,” Tony whispered as he pressed a finger to his own mouth. After several minutes of silence, the tension faded from Bruce’s shoulders and he was–thank heavens–able to get back to his work. Or so he thought. Then Tony had to go and open his mouth once more:

“So, when are you going to see her again?”

“Tony,” Bruce said, this time a little more forcibly. “I’m not. She isn’t interested. _I’m_ not interested. Just drop it, would you?”

“Mmm…I don’t think so. I’ve got plans for you, Big Guy.”

“Well, since I intend to make sure that I never show up for another meeting with you without you in tow, you’re going to have a hell of a time getting me places. And I don’t think [Name] is going to agree to go anywhere 'with you' again, either. At least, not if you're the one doing the asking."

“Aww, you already know about her. That’s cute.”

“It’s not cute, Tony. Seriously. Drop it.”

Tony heaved his most martyr-ish sigh. “If you insist.”

“You’re not really going to drop this, are you?”

Bruce looked back at Tony just in time to see him break into a broad grin. “Not on your life.”

******

Saturday at one in the afternoon found you again in Nana’s store, shoving boxes all across the badly patterned floor. The store wasn’t open on weekends–although it used to be–but you still had to be there to do the restocking and the cleaning that couldn’t be got to during the regular work week. Besides, after your disaster of a "date" the night before, you needed to get out of your apartment and do some _real_ work. Manual labor always got your mind off things for a little bit, if nothing else.

With sweat and dust gathering to stick in odd places to your body, you finished putting the last banana in its place. Now that the fruit section was done, you needed to get started on the meat. Thankfully, that was it for the really hard work. You simply needed to remember to call and place your orders for Monday before you left. After a brief pause to wipe the worst of the gunk from your brow, you spun back toward the storage room. Before you could take a single step, however, a sharp rap on the window had you whirling about.

Standing outside in the sunny street with a scowl on his face was none other than Mr. Banner. The idea of leaving him there appealed to you, but he’d probably brought his key. It was only his attempt at being polite that kept him outside. So instead you walked over and opened the door.

“May I help you, sir?” you asked in as tired of a voice as you could manage.

“You startle easily, don’t you?” he asked.

“Sir–”

“Don’t even start with me. I would appreciate it if you just let me inside.”

His odd almost-politeness threw you off. The hesitation was just enough to allow Mr. Banner take it as an agreement, and, in a matter of seconds, he had peeled the door from your grip and walked right in.

“Mr. Banner–” you tried again, but the man stopped you with a held up hand. Your mouth closed tight just as your eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“You said when I came to speak to you earlier this week that you could not afford to hire me to help you in the store.”

The buzz of the overhead lights filled the silence as you waited for him to continue. Mr. Banner, though, was apparently waiting for you to answer.

“Well?” he barked. 

You jumped, which only made you angrier. “Yes, that is what I said.”

“Deaf, maybe, but not an idiot,” Mr. Banner said. Before you could put in a retort, he continued, “What if I told you that I don’t need to be paid?”

“You don’t need to be paid,” you repeated in deadpan.

“No. I was honorably discharged. I don’t have mortgage payments, either. So here I am to work for absolutely no pay at all–and you had better use this opportunity while you have it.”

His offer was not exactly tempting. The extra set of arms, sure, but Mr. Banner? He hadn’t proven for a moment that he could actually be pleasant to anyone. You ran your fingers through your hair to stall for time.

“Why would you work here for no pay?” you wanted to know.

Mr. Banner squinted up one of his eyes and regarded you for a moment. “I knew your grandfather.”

“And?”

“He was a good man. This store and his wife were everything to him. But Doris is a stubborn woman. Used to be that Frank would hire people to help work in shifts, but something happened in that accident and now she won’t hear of it.”

“You talked to Nana about this?”

“Of course I did!” Mr. Banner snapped. “You don’t know what you’re doing! Besides, how any young woman can be expected to run a shop like this well _and_ take care of their grandmother at the same time, I don’t know. That nurse you've got there is expensive and can't be with her around the clock. It's asking too much of you to be in two places at once, 'less you've got some-what are they calling it? Enhancement?”

Your eyes widened. Mr. Banner was _worried_ about you? For all the anger he’d tossed in your general direction, that was certainly what it sounded like.

“I don’t know, Mr. Banner,” you said. “That doesn’t really sound fair. Besides, it’s not like I can cut down on my shifts here.”

“I know that. But you need help and even an older man like me has to be better than no one.”

_But what about Nana?_ you wanted to ask. She wasn’t a stupid woman. Customers talked and called. Customers weren't above calling the house to talk to Nana herself, as Pepper Potts had indicated! Somehow, Mr. Banner lending a hand would get out, and you didn’t want to be on the receiving end when it did. Perhaps some of your trepidation showed on your face, because he spoke again, this time more gently:

“I won’t tell if you won’t tell. If anyone calls about me, I’ll tell her I was just yelling at you and showing you how you could do your job better. Doris would probably believe something like that.”

A stubborn laugh forced its way out of your mouth. “Yeah, she probably would.”

For the first time, something of a smile formed on Mr. Banner’s face. “So what do you say? You gonna take me on?”

You cocked your head to one side and looked at him. It was true, he wasn’t really _that_ old. He could carry those boxes more easily than you could, too. A full-fledged grin peeled across your face as you reached forward to shake his offered hand. 

“What the hell," you said. "Welcome aboard.”


	9. From a Different Point of View

“Careful, [Name]. Careful!” Above the sound of the carefree chatter emanating from the crowd came Nana’s gentle cry.

Knuckles already white around the handles of her wheelchair, you only just pulled her to a halt when a toddler pranced across the aisle. You allowed yourself a moment of relieved pause, then dipped your head closer to hers. “You okay?”

“Well, I know why you don’t have your driver’s license.”

As you stood back up, you had to blow a bit of your hair from your face. “I don’t normally cause near hit and runs involving small children on my own, Nana.”

“I know, dear, I know.”

Once the "road" was clear, you looked about the bleachers for a vacant seat. People milled about chatting; the Sunday lacrosse game had yet to start, meaning socialization was more important than keeping eyes glued to the field. Thankfully, even with the constant shifting, you spotted a seat with a space next to it perfect for Nana’s wheelchair.

“It’s nice to have a day off, isn’t it?” she asked as you wheeled her down the ramp toward the front of the bleachers. The metal rumbled underneath her chair.

“Yes, it is,” you answered truthfully.

“I can’t even remember the last time I got out of that old apartment.”

You adjusted Nana carefully into her spot, then sat down in yours. “You had a doctor’s appointment two weeks ago.”

“Pah. I mean for something _fun._ ”

“Lacrosse is fun?”

“I forgot. You never saw a match while you were here.”

A sudden upswing in noise caused you took down at the playing field. Both teams traipsed into view to great aplomb, putting an end to that particular argument before it could even start.

“Oh, look, Mr. Kanklefritz’s son made the team,” Nana cooed.

Your shoulders slumped as you relaxed. You were there. Might as well enjoy the match.

“Excuse me, but is this seat taken?” a familiar voice asked. 

As soon as you looked up, all hopes of a normal day went flying into the stratosphere. “Miss Potts?” you asked, then leaned forward in your seat. Sure enough, there was Dr. Banner, playing with his fingers and looking resolutely anywhere but toward you. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s Pepper,” she answered as she sat down and slid her bag off her shoulder. “Tony decided to do some actual work today, so Bruce and I are on our own.”

“And you came to see a high school lacrosse game?”

“We thought it might be nice to get out of the tower for a bit. Hello, Doris.” Pepper directed these last words at Nana. Despite the comfortably cool weather, you could feel your body heat rise with your blush. What if Nana said something?

“Miss Potts!” Nana cried with delight. “Fancy seeing you here. How are you?”

Pepper smiled. “I’m doing very well. How are things?”

“Oh, they were touch and go after Frank died. But,” Nana reached out and grasped your hand, “I have [Name] now.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.”

“I hope she hasn’t caused you too much trouble?”

“No! Not at all. We were quite satisfied with our trade off.”

“That’s good. She _is_ trying.”

“Nana…”

She squeezed your hand a final time and then released it. “And how is Mr. Stark?”

“The same as always,” Pepper answered with a roll of her eyes. “Actually, he wanted me to ask [Name] something.”

“Oh? What’s that? Has she messed up another order?”

“Nana,” you said again in a strangled voice. “Are you even going to watch the game?”

“No! Of course not. Actually,” Pepper turned toward you, “he was hoping you would go to dinner with us.”

Although one of the teams had certainly just scored their first goal, your little section of bleacher became completely silent. Every eye (presumably excepting Dr. Banner’s) turned toward you. You rolled your shoulders before opening your mouth to attempt a response.

“Us?” you asked very intelligently.

Pepper’s smile widened. “Tony and I, and Bruce, of course.”

“Oh!” Nana’s hand again patted the back of your own sitting stiffly in your lap. “How nice, [Name]!”

“W-Why?” you managed to stammer, while at the same time feigning immense interest in the game. Leaving the apartment to do something other than work had _sounded_ like a good idea when suggested. Now you wished you’d just stayed curled up in bed.

“To say thank you,” Pepper said. Your heart lifted somewhat–at least until she continued. “Besides, Tony said it would be nice for Bruce to have some company.”

You could barely see through your horror and embarrassment. “I don’t…what?”

“Honestly, you’d be doing me a huge favor as well. Sometimes Tony can forget we’re in public.”

Dr. Banner needed company? Oh God. Oh God. If Nana figured out that the man sitting on Pepper’s other side was the same man you’d gone on a date with, you weren’t sure you would be able to save either of them from the ensuing tantrum. On the bright sight, Nana didn’t want you to date, so no way was she going to let you go.

“You should go, [Name]. Mr. Stark has been a very good customer of ours, since your grandfather started the store practically.”

Thanks, Nana. Thanks a whole lot. Suddenly the dirt under your fingernails seemed very interesting. You examined it closely as you hedged, “I’m not sure. When would it be?”

“We were thinking Wednesday?”

“Well, I have a lot of work to do at the store on Thursday. Knowing Mr. Stark, we’d probably be out late.”

Something that sounded an awful like an amused snort came from Pepper’s other side. She did not seem to notice. For a moment, she bit at the corner of her lip, then her eyes closed before popping open again.

“I’m sorry. Sometimes Tony forgets that other people have schedules. We could find a better time, I’m sure.”

“I–”

“[Name]!” said Nana. “You should go!”

“Nana–”

“I’m sure you’ll have time to go after work. You can do the stocking in the afternoon on Thursday.”

Mr. Banner was planning to be there in the morning, but you couldn’t say that. Instead, with your mouth hanging a couple centimeters open, you looked desperately between Pepper and Nana. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“I would really like you to come,” Pepper said, with such sincerity in her voice that you couldn’t find it in yourself to doubt her. “I haven’t had another woman to talk to since Natasha went out of the country. Please?”

Nana nudged your shoulder. Although you doubted that anyone else could see, her hand was wrapped around yours so tightly that little pricks of static stabbed the tops of them. Doing your best not to wince, you looked back at Pepper.

“Besides,” she said when you didn’t give an immediate answer, “Tony is right. It’s not fair for us to always do things as a couple and expect Bruce to tag along. You’ll really be helping all of us.”

What, was Dr. Banner mute? First blackmail and then...whatever it was Pepper was doing. Nothing could ever be said that would convince you that Tony Stark did not know exactly what he was doing when he asked Pepper to ask you–even if _she_ didn’t. You were going to absolutely kill him. To do that, you would have to be somewhere he was physically present.

“All right. It’s a date,” you said. 

“Great! I can’t wait.”

“I probably shouldn’t even bother to ask, but do you know where we’re going?”

“Not in the slightest. Tony is a fly by the seat of his pants kind of person. I’ll catch a ride with Happy and come pick you up.”

“Happy?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Happy is Tony’s bodyguard. He also does the driving.”

“Um, fancy. Thanks.”

“Not at all.”

At last, Nana relinquished her vice-like grip on your hand. “Oh, [Name], this is wonderful! You’re making friends.”

“Thanks, Nana.”

Fortunately, after that all conversation became rendered impossible when a fight broke out down below. In the confusion that followed, you manged to lock eyes with Dr. Banner. You weren't sure if you saw anything there to assuage your fears at all.

******

Between Pepper and Tony, Bruce didn’t know how long his life was going to last in that semi-peaceful state. First dating and then insisting he accompany people to sporting events? Really, even with his more recent track record as it was, he wasn’t entirely sure a high school lacrosse game was really the best place for him. At least back at the tower, he could count on Tony suiting up and taking him out. 

That wasn’t even the worst of it, though. Surprise, surprise, there you were, sitting with your grandmother and probably hoping you’d never see him again. As much as Bruce tried to stay out of the conversation, he wasn’t deaf. He heard exactly when Pepper asked you to accompany him on a double date.

“Pepper,” he said as he followed the woman out of the stadium and toward wherever Happy was waiting to take them home. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Pepper replied, frowning.

“That.” Bruce gestured behind him. Although they could no longer see you, he had no doubt that you were still there trying to maneuver your grandmother through the crowd. “Asking her to come with us to dinner on Wednesday.”

“I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t even know we were supposed to go out to dinner that night. I honestly figured I’d be eating celery sticks alone in the kitchen at 10 PM again.”

Pepper stopped walking so quickly that Bruce nearly ran into her. For half a minute, he remained blinking at her back. Then she turned around, her brown eyes narrowed.

“ _Tony_.”

Although he hated to ask, although Bruce really already knew, he squeezed his eyes shut and shoved his hands in into his pockets. “What about him?”

She heaved a sigh and looked at Bruce with concern flooding her eyes. “Did he tell you about this at all?”

“About the double date? No.”

“I should have known! Why wouldn’t he have had _you_ ask? I just really–” Whatever Pepper was, however, she seemed to be unable to find a word bad enough to describe it. She pressed two fingers to her temple and then exhaled sharply. “Bruce. I’m so sorry. I didn’t–Is this okay?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters! I wouldn’t have asked if–Tony said you _liked_ her!”

He had to smile at that. Tony worked quickly, if nothing else good could be said. “Actually, what I said was that I wanted him to drop the whole thing and leave her alone.”

“Oh my god. Bruce. I just–Do you want me to go back and call the whole thing off?”

“Kind of too late for that, isn’t it? They’re probably halfway home by now.”

“But why would Tony lie about that? Don’t answer that. I know. Because–”

“Because I have to learn sometime. So going back and rescinding the invitation won’t do much good. He’ll just make it happen some other way.”

“Are you guys going to get in the car?” Happy asked through an open window.

Pepper held a finger out toward him without even looking at his face. “Just one second, Happy. We’re in the middle of something.”

“Is it Mr. Stark related?”

“Yes.”

“Understood.”

The window rolled right back up. Pepper took a step closer to Bruce, who had to concentrate very hard to not widen the space again. Old habits died hard.

“Bruce, is there anything I can do?”

“Not unless you can actually get Tony to stop, which I doubt.”

She bit her lip and looked up toward the sky. A moment later, Pepper’s eyes focused once again on Bruce as she shook her head. “I can’t think of anything.”

Bruce barked a single laugh. “Yeah, that’s kind of the thing about Tony.”

At last, Pepper turned and opened door to the car. “I’m going to kill him. I’m absolutely going to kill him.”

“Well, if you’re going to go that far,” Bruce said with a wry smile as he followed her inside, “I’d at least like to be present.”

“I’ll let you hold him down.”

“You’re very kind.”


	10. Just Who's in Charge Here?

Tony hated spring cleaning the company computers. The things people got up to when they were supposed to be programming...not that it was any of his business, until ,of course, it started making everything run slow. Normally, Tony would have just had one of the IT guys stay after hours and do fix everything up, but he needed to step out and let Pepper work her magic. Unfortunately, she would be smart enough to check the lab. That meant, what was it? Four hours worth of busywork.

"Virus,” Tony said with one hand against his forehead. “Virus. Pornography. Virus. What am I paying these people for again?”

“I frequently ask myself what you’re paying _me_ for.”

It took a moment for his sluggish brain to register, but when it did, Tony’s glassy eyes looked up to see Pepper standing in the office doorway. He sat back with a smile.

“Hey,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I just thought I’d come visit you in the office, since you’re working so hard and all.”

She sauntered slowly into the room. Tony grinned and ran a hand over one of his ears. “Really? That’s kind of you. What did you mean about not knowing what I pay for you for?”

Pepper bit her lower lip, lowering herself onto the arm of his chair. One her hands played absently with his hair as she looked down at his computer screen. “Well, supposedly I'm your personal assistant, but lately it seems all you’re paying me for is to make life harder for Bruce.”

Tony’s tired eyes froze to his screen. Pepper continued to play with his hair until at last he looked up at her. She smiled down at him, her fingers still around a lock of hair. Already defeated, he sighed.

“Who told you?” he asked.

“Bruce did. Did you really think he’d just let me ask her out for him and go along with it?”

“There are a lot of things Bruce will allow if he doesn’t want to make a fuss.”

“Yes, and thankfully you are teaching him to not do so.”

He rubbed a single palm against his face. “Please tell me you still asked her.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to miss my next paycheck.”

“You _live_ here, Pepper.”

“So does Bruce.” Tony turned his attention back to his computer screen. All that busywork for nothing. He sighed as Pepper draped her arm across his shoulders. “She said yes, Tony.”

“She did? That’s great! I knew she liked him.”

“I don’t know about that. Doris seemed to want her to go more than she did.”

“Still, she’s coming. This is good. This is _very_ good.”

Pepper sighed as she removed her arm. “Honestly, Tony. If he doesn’t _want_ to go on a date, why are you forcing him?”

“I already told you. I want him to get comfortable with people again.”

“And he’s starting to–with you and me.” He remained silent. “I just think you could stand to be a little more considerate of Bruce’s feelings. There are a lot of things he’s had to learn to live without. Pushing him to accept them again might not be the best idea.”

“What, you think she’s going to report him to that dick general?”

“Well, Tony, I don’t know. We barely know [Name]. If Bruce feels uncomfortable around her, he shouldn’t have to spend time with her. He didn’t speak a single word to her during the game.”

“She doesn’t know anything about the Hulk. She runs a _grocery store_.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this Tony, but that little Avengers escapade a few months back _was_ on the news. It’s not just people from New York that know about you all now.”

“But–”

She tossed her head to one side. “I know you don’t like to admit you’re wrong, but I think Bruce has had enough of this little escapade.”

“ _He_ could ask me to stop.”

“He did. You tricked me into asking [Name] out for him instead.”

Tony’s mouth squished into a thin line. Slowly, he dipped his head and then ruffled his hair between his hands. “Fine.”

“Excuse me?”

“Fine.” He looked straight at Pepper. “I will drop this dating thing. As soon as this double date is over, I will never again force Bruce out on a date with someone he doesn’t want to go with.”

Pepper smiled.

His eyes narrowed. “What?”

“It’s just amazing, hearing you say you’ll stop something.”

“Yeah, well.” Tony rolled his eyes. “I _am_ pretty amazing. You know, in case you haven’t noticed that yet. Be pretty sad if you hadn’t. I mean, considering that I stopped that nuke seven months ago. And before that, I successfully made Stark Industries the only name in clean energy. And before _that_ I was saving people as Iron Man. So ‘amazing’ kind of comes with the territory.”

Pepper ran her fingers through her ponytail. “More amazing without the lip, but,” she dipped her head and pressed her lips against Tony’s, “I love you,” she whispered.

“Love you too,” Tony answered, before pulling her in for another kiss.

******

“You have got to be kidding me!” Across the tiled floor of the grocery store lay strewn the entire contents of a box of hamburger meat. The tubes of flesh leaked watery blood that continued to flood tiny rivers down the floor despite your anger. With a scowl on your face, you knelt and seized one in your hand. Meat oozed through your fingers. “Augh!”

“What are you doing?”

Mr. Banner stood above you; his face looked no happier than your own.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” you snapped. “I’m cleaning this mess up!”

“You’re making it worse! What are you doing touching that with your bare hands? Are you _stupid_?”

“I didn’t have time to get gloves!”

“I told you I’d get that box down!”

“Well, you were busy and I need to get this done!”

Mr. Banner’s face was quite red by that point in time. Still, when he spoke again, his voice was calm–although a bit shaky. “I’ll take care of this. Go wash your hands, _now_. And next time you decide to get a little impatient, wear gloves!”

“Whatever.” You got to your feet before stomping into the back to use the sink. Having Mr. Banner around might have made things easier, but it didn’t make them anymore pleasant. He’d done nothing but yell at you all day for being a useless lump. The wasted hamburger meat was just the crown jewel on your day of suck.

By the time you returned to the front room, Mr. Banner had a mop and most of the mess cleared up. He squinted one eye up at you as you walked past him toward a shelf that needed reorganized. Apparently, your work with the labels wasn’t quite up to par with Nana’s usual standards.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Stupid canned ravioli. Wasn’t it enough if everyone could read the label? Why did they all have to be at the exact same angle?

“Oh, sure you don’t, Miss I’ll-just-scream-at-everything-and-that-will-make-things-better.”

“Nicknames are supposed to be _short_.”

Mr. Banner regarded you for a moment, then nodded his head in the direction of the chair behind the register. “Sit down, kid.”

“No,” you said. “I have work to do.”

“Yeah, and I have to keep going behind you and fixing everything because you’re having a tantrum. Sit down.”

“I–”

“Sit. Down.”

Something in Mr. Banner’s tone made it clear that if you did not stop arguing, you would probably have to clean up something worse than cow meat momentarily. But you didn’t have to be happy about doing as he said, and you made your displeasure evident in your snappish walk and the tight weaving of your arms and legs when you sat down.

“What?” you demanded.

“Don’t give me lip. Just tell me what’s making you so angry.”

“You don’t care.”

“You might be right. Depends on whether or not you're messing up our work for a dumb reason.”

“Just leave me alone.”

“I _would,_ if you could do anything you’re supposed to be doing without making a mess.”

“Great! That’s apparently what I do with everything!”

Mr. Banner’s fingers moved slightly down the mop handle. “What happened? Just tell me so we can get this conversation over with.”

You didn’t want to tell him. Even you could see how foolish you were being. If there was one thing you wanted less than to let Mr. Banner laugh at you, though, it was to stay there longer refusing to have a heart to heart with a man you weren’t sure you liked all that much. “Fine!” You threw up your hands. “I have a date!”

“What?” he asked blankly.

“I have a date, okay? I have a date I don’t want to go on”

"You’re acting like this because of a date? Don’t girls your age _want_ to date?”

“No!” you answered. “Not this guy!”

“Why’d you say yes if you don’t want to go?”

“Because Nana wants me to go!” With this, you buried your face in your hands. Maybe that would be enough to get Mr. Banner off your back. It seemed like it might, until you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“So you’re upset because your grandmother wants you to date?"

“She didn’t _last_ week. Now Mr. Stark asks me to go dinner with his girlfriend and this guy and…” you shook your head. “Nana’s all over it.”

“You might have fun.”

“I won’t. I already went out with this guy. We barely talked. He can’t even ask me out on his own!”

“Maybe he’s too nervous.”

“So? He has to get Tony Stark to do it?”

Mr. Banner–to your great relief–released his hold on you. He nodded slowly. “Maybe this gentleman doesn’t want to go either and Mr. Stark is just harassing him.”

“They’re _friends_.”

“I don’t see why that should mean anything. From all those interviews, looks like Mr. Stark is a pretty capricious man. Maybe he’s only doing this because he knows it makes both of you squirm.”

You let you a sigh and buried your face for another moment. “I just don’t know what to do. This is going to be horrible. If I screw it up, Nana will be so disappointed. What if Mr. Stark stops shopping here?”

“Seems like a pretty bad reason to stop, frankly. It’s not as if your dating makes the shop any better.”

“Thanks.”

“Just telling the truth, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, well,” you stretched and, feeling slightly calmer, walked back over to your cans, “I figured the last date was bad enough he’d never want to see me again. Looks like it wasn’t. Tony Stark is probably going to make sure I end up marrying this guy.”

“Could be worse.”

“ _How_?”

“You could be marrying Tony Stark.”

You glanced over at Mr. Banner. He was right where you left him and looking so serious. Despite the tension, you burst out laughing. A couple of tears leaked out from the corners of your eyes. “Yeah,” you said once you recovered yourself. “That _would_ be worse.”

“You okay now, [Name]?”

“Eh, I’ll be better once I get the date over with.”

“When is it?”

“Wednesday.”

He whistled. “That long dealing with you like this?”

“Look.” You shook your head and moved some hair behind your ear. “Sorry for all the drama. I’ll try to keep a lid on. Won’t be easy, though.”

“All you’ve gotta do is finish this one date. Then you can avoid him as much as you want.”

“Fat chance. Tony Stark knows when I work _and_ where Nana likes to go on weekends. I’m trapped.”

“True, he does have the technological advantage.” He slapped you on the back. “Tell you what, you get asked out on any more and I’ll go in drag for you.”

Your responsive chuckle was a bit weaker; the hopelessness of the situation had settled again on your shoulders. “Thanks, Mr. Banner.”

“Good girl. Now,” he handed you the mop and nodded back toward the remaining hamburger mess, “get back to work.”

You frowned at him but did as you were told. “Yes, sir.”


	11. An Ass by Any Other Name

“Oh. My. God.”

As stupid as the words sounded, you couldn’t help the way they slipped breathlessly from your lips as the elevator door slid open to reveal the Mandarin Oriental Hotel’s 35th floor. Nana had told you, as soon as Pepper sent the details of your "business meeting," that Asiate was fancy, but nothing could have prepared you for this. Wood paneled floors, golden lighting, a panoramic view of the city twinkling across the bay–suddenly the nicest dress in your closet felt shabby in comparison.

Not that your realization that you had said that _out loud_ helped matters. Your mouth snapped shut as you threw a hasty glance at Pepper. “I mean–It’s…”

“It’s really nice, isn’t it?” Pepper stepped from the elevator and it took every ounce of self-control you had to follow her. “A little much, but Tony is supposed to have dinner here with a client in two weeks. If he’s going to pester the wait staff, it will be best if he has the opportunity to do so _now_.”

“Er.” You stopped and looked back just in time to see the elevator doors close. “Does that happen…often?”

Pepper chuckled. “It depends on how attractive they are.” You must have looked a little pale because she offered you a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry; Tony will be on his best behavior tonight. At least, he’ll probably be too distracted to bother anyone that works here too much.”

“Distracted?” you asked.

Too bad that Pepper never had a chance to explain herself. Before she could, a very professional-looking gentleman arrived at the host podium. The thought of escaping back into the elevator did occur to you, but there was the slight problem of having arrived with Pepper to consider. She would probably notice your absence even if no one else did.

“May I help you?” the man asked.

“We’re here to meet a couple of gentlemen,” Pepper answered.

The man smiled. “Mr. Stark?”

“That’s the one.”

“Right this way.”

The man lifted his right arm. You ducked your head as you followed Pepper deeper into the restaurant. Some sort of gentle instrumental music tinkled through hidden speakers, but that didn’t make you feel any less nervous.

“Oh, there they are,” you heard a new male voice say.

Almost of its own accord, your head snapped up and toward the owner of that voice. Dr. Banner, looking almost-red faced and very uncomfortable, sat at a table near the back next to the the thin, dark haired man that had spoken. Undoubtedly this was Tony Stark; you could tell by his manner even without having seen him on the news every other day for the past few months.

“Here we are,” Pepper answered primly as the pair of you drew closer to where they were seated.

Dr. Banner shifted a bit, his face half-turned in your direction. Mr. Stark, however, only had eyes for Pepper. He smirked.

“Took you long enough–and I gave you my best driver, too.”

“He’s the best driver we have because he doesn’t take risks that will wreck your fancy car.”

Their banter sounded casual and well-practiced. As you expected them to go at it for at least a few minutes, you were surprised when Mr. Stark turned his wide brown eyes toward you. You didn’t think it was just your imagination that made his smile look almost predatory.

“And you must be the famous [F Name] [L Name],” he said.

“Um…” Not the best way to introduce yourself, but in your defense, you were distracted. Instead of pulling out your own chair and settling in, a man dressed in the same uniform as the man up front came out of nowhere to pull the chair out for you. “Thanks,” you said, awkwardly sitting down and shoving a lock of hair behind your ear.

The glossy menu in your place caught your attention then. Without thinking, you picked it up and didn’t remember where you were until a throat cleared across the table. There was nothing like looking like an idiot five minutes into meeting Tony Stark.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a half a second before you put the menu down to look at him. “Eh?”

“Well?” Mr. Stark asked with that same sardonic smile. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“[F Name] [L Name]?”

As if he didn’t already know. Mr. Stark had been making your life an uncomfortable hell for the past two weeks. You bit back this retort, though, and answered with a simple, “yes.”

He gave Pepper a gentle nudge with his elbow without looking away from you. “Could have picked a smarter one.”

“Tony…”

“Oh, I’m just kidding. You ever been here, [Name]?”

Now it was you that had to squirm. “It’s not exactly in my price range.”

“Well, running a grocery store can’t have all the perks, I guess. How’s that going, by the way? How’s Nana? Didn’t take a spill, did she?”

“Nana is fine, thank you.”

“Tell her hello for me.”

“Yes, sir. I will. She’ll be very happy to hear from you, I’m sure.”

“Naturally.”

The server arrived, looking not at all intimidated by the people at the table. “Have you all decided on what you’ll be having this evening?” he asked.

Mr. Stark handed him his menu before answering: “The dinner tasting menu, please. Wine pairing, too.”

Never mind Asiate being out of your price range–a dinner tasting menu definitely was. $135 for a meal was _not_ something you could afford. “Not for me, please. I–”

“My treat,” Mr. Stark said before you could explain yourself.

The server watched until you gave a barely perceptible nod. Arguing just didn't seem as if it would be effective in this environment.

“Of course. I will be back shortly.” After a small bow, he left you to the sharks.

Desperate to avoid any further conversation with Mr. Stark, you turned wildly to your right. “How are you this evening, Dr. Banner?”

However he was feeling before, it was clear Dr. Banner was now very startled–it looked as if he hadn’t expected you to address him. Before he could answer, Tony broke in with a laugh.

“Dr. Banner? You still call him that?”

“Well, I–” you started. At the same time, Dr. Banner said, “Tony, don’t–”

Both of you fell into silent at once. You grabbed the edge of the table cloth near your lap.

Mr. Stark’s eyebrows lifted; he looked utterly delighted. “His name is Bruce, you know. Or are you just overly formal?”

At least he hadn’t implied you were going home to play doctor later. You took a deep breath, released the table cloth, and tried to keep your voice as even as you could to answer Mr. Stark. “Dr. Banner and I aren’t close enough that I feel comfortable calling him by his first name.”

“I’ll bet,” Mr. Stark crossed his arms over his chest, “he hasn’t asked you to. Bruce?”

Dr. Banner adjusted his glasses and moved his napkin to his lap. “No, I haven’t.”

“See? It’s fine. Call him Bruce.”

“All right, that’s enough,” Pepper broke in. She shot Mr. Stark a look just as the server returned with a bottle of wine. You only caught a glimpse of the label–Schramsberg, Brut Rosé–before the man started to pour the pink, bubbling liquid into your glasses. “We’re here to enjoy a nice night out, just the four of us.”

“I _am_ enjoying myself,” Mr. Stark insisted.

Pepper frowned. “Play nice.”

“I’d like to play with you later.”

“Not at the table, Tony.”

You sighed. At least his focus seemed to have shifted to Pepper. You took a sip of your wine as you glanced over at Dr. Banner. His eyes darted toward you at the same moment; you thought they might have rolled, but before you could ask if Mr. Stark was _always_ like this, the first plate of food arrived.

“Hamachi with preserved cherry blossom and white soy ponzu,” a man announced as four servers placed the meal in front of you and the rest of those at the table.

Mr. Stark looked at the little slice of pink-brown meat. “Kind of small, don’t you think?”

The man’s mouth fell open slightly. Maybe he didn’t get that question much, although you had to agree. Thankfully, he looked to Pepper for advice instead of you.

“This is wonderful, thank you,” she said with a smile.

The servers left. For one blessed moment, the only sounds at the table were those of silverware clacking against the plate. At least the food was good– _really_ good, you thought as you chewed slowly and savored the silence.

“Pretty good,” Mr. Stark said himself. “Think we could get them to serve larger portions? Seems a waste when–”

“Stop making trouble and just eat your meal,” Pepper said.

Mr. Stark shrugged and stuffed almost all of what was left into his mouth. “What about you, [Name]? You like this…what was it called?”

“Hamachi,” Pepper said before taking a small bite of her own.

“Hamachi, right. How do you like it?”

You swallowed. “It’s amazing,” you said honestly. “Probably hard to make on my budget, though.”

“Well, why don’t you try being something _other_ than a grocer? Show a little initiative.”

Your heart gave an angry bang inside your chest. When you set your fork down carefully next to your empty plate, it was only to give yourself time to think of something semi-polite to say in return. When nothing came to mind, you just looked back toward the kitchen in silence.

“Miss [L Name]?” Dr. Banner asked gently. “Are you all right?”

“Not you, too, Bruce,” said Mr. Stark. “You’ve been out with her before! It’s just [Name], right?”

You didn’t answer.

“What’s wrong with you? Did I strike a nerve?”

Again, you took a very deep breath before re-entering the conversation. “I am a grocer by necessity, Mr. Stark, not by choice. Someone has to take care of my grandmother.”

“Wouldn’t getting a higher paid job help with that?” Mr. Stark asked as the servers swooped in again, took the dirty plates, and replaced them with tiny bowls of what appeared to be oatmeal shot through with leafy vegetable and topped by a sunny-side-up egg.

“Buckwheat and eggs,” the man from before announced, “made with soba noodles, osetra caviar, and uni cream.”

“Oh, caviar. Hard to afford that on a grocer’s salary, eh?”

You leveled a cold glare at Mr. Stark. The waiters, either oblivious to the chilly atmosphere or wishing to ignore it, took your wine glasses and replaced the bottle with a tall white one with Japanese characters on it.

“The wine,” the man continued, “is Shirataki, 'Sara Wind,' from Junmai Sake in Japan.”

You took a sip and dug into your egg.

“Look, if you’re going to date Bruce, it’s just going to look a little bad. He’s a doctor, after all. Graduated top of his class.”

“That’s funny,” you said without looking away from your food. “Because _Dr. Banner_ hasn’t mentioned being embarrassed to be seen with me at all–and he’s not the one that asked me to be present.”

“Well, Bruce is too nice to say anything. Right, Bruce?”

“Tony, drop it,” Dr. Banner said.

“I just meant, if you wanted to get serious. You’ll have to take care of Nana, too, you know, if–”

You got to your feet and stood ramrod-straight as you stared at Tony Stark.

“Thank you,” you said in the brief surprised silence that followed. “For the _lovely_ evening, Mr. Stark. I’m afraid, however, that I have work tomorrow and really must be going.”

Without waiting to hear anyone respond, you threw your napkin into your chair and stalked from the restaurant.

******

Thirty-five stories below, the sidewalk was crammed with hotel patrons entering and exiting for the night. A steady stream of cars flew by, but none slowed to help the shivering woman standing waving for a taxi. As much as Bruce hated crowds, he maneuvered as quickly (and carefully) as he could through it and to your side.

“Taxi!” you shouted as a yellow vehicle sped past and through the nearby red light. “Taxi! Oh come on!”

“Do you need me to call Happy for you?”

You looked over. Bruce couldn’t really fault you for the expression your face. He knew Tony could be bad–Bruce had had the unfortunate experience of several meetings locked in a room with Tony, Steve, and Nick Fury–but this was pushing it.

"No,” you said shortly. “I just want a taxi so I can go home, take care of my grandmother, and get up to be made fun of for it again because Tony Stark has made it his personal mission in life to make my life miserable.”

“Ah…” Bruce shifted backwards slightly, unsure of how to answer that–though, of course, it wasn’t exactly a question.

Luckily, you seemed prepared to continue without him. You shot Bruce another look full of venom as you tried and failed to hail another cab. “Your friend is a real asshole, you know that?”

“I am,” Bruce winced, “painfully aware of how he can come across like that.”

You paused, then whirled toward him. Your heels clicked against the sparkling pavement. “Come across like that?” you demanded. “Tony Stark spent _an hour_ just now telling me I’m not suited to be in his presence because I’m poor. And I’m not even poor!”

“I know.” He held up his hands. “But trust me. Tony is a good guy. He _is_ Iron Man.”

Anger colored your face right up to the hairline. “So what?” you asked. “He’s a superhero, so he can do whatever the hell he wants? Collateral damage is fine so long as he saves a couple of lives every once and awhile?”

“Well…no,” Bruce said, interlocking his fingers while he looked at you over the rim of his glasses.

You looked away and stuffed your hands into your armpits. “He’s an asshole,” you said, a bit more quietly as you stared at the curb.

“He shouldn’t have said any of that. Sorry you had to come.”

“Yeah, well, I won’t be making that mistake again. Don’t ask your friends to do you anymore favors, okay?”

“Favors?” Bruce narrowed his eyes, then widened them almost immediately. “You think I _asked_ Tony and Pepper to do this for me?”

“What else am I supposed to think? It’s not like we’re in high school anymore. If you wanted to go out with me, you should have just asked. I would have said no, but then at least we could have avoided this whole fiasco.”

Bruce lifted one hand to his face and took a deep breath. His arm dropped to his side before he spoke again. “I did not ask Tony to ask you out for me. I actually asked him _not_ to.”

“Then why all this?”

“Tony decided to…” Bruce eyed the flashing lights above his head as he crammed his hands into his pockets. “‘Help’ me. I don’t get out much and he decided you were the safest choice to get me out of the Tower.”

“What?” you asked blankly.

“I just don’t like to socialize. Believe me, Tony tricked me every bit as much as he tricked you.”

“Even tonight?”

“Even tonight.”

You stared at Bruce for a moment, then slowly sunk into a crouch. “Oh.”

“I’m still sorry about all this.”

A funny sound issued from your buried head. Bruce frowned. It took you looking straight up at him, grinning, for him to realize the gurgle had been a laugh. “And yet you still say he’s not an asshole.”

Bruce offered you a hesitant smile in return. “He’s an asshole, no doubt. But he’s also a good guy. You just have to get to know him.”

You stood up, your smile now a little wry, then walked toward the curb. Finally, a cab responded to your wave and pulled gently up. “I think I’ll just keep my relationship with Mr. Stark as is, if you don’t mind.”

It was quite clear you meant that as a dismissal since you stepped right into the darkness of the cab’s interior as you said it. Bruce, however, still felt guilt gnawing at his stomach. It was his fault, after all, that Tony had decided to push things this far. He walked quickly up to the cab and placed his hands above the opening before you could slam the door shut.

“Look, are you sure you don’t want to come back upstairs and finish dinner?” he asked over the puttering of the cab’s motor.

You shook your head. “What, and listen to Mr. Stark’s running commentary again?”

“Pepper has probably finished reaming him out by now,” Bruce said with a glance toward you. When you didn’t respond, he continued, “She likes you.”

“She does?”

He wet his lips and nodded with his palm still pressed up against the door frame.

“Tell her I said sorry for ruining her evening. And yours, too.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse. If anyone ruined anything, it was Tony.”

“Hey, lady!” The cab driver called. “You staying with lover boy here or what? The meter is running!”

“I’ve got to go,” you said to Bruce.

He hastily took a step back onto the sidewalk. “Right. See you later.”

You paused, then shrugged. “Sure. Later.”

Bruce waved, shut the door, and watched as the taxi pulled screeching into the street. He sighed once, hands in his pockets, as he watched your taxi cab disappear into the New York City throng. He couldn't blame you for hating him, but he felt at the moment as if leaving with you would have been ten times more enjoyable than going back upstairs with Pepper and Tony-good food or not.


	12. Two Steps Forward, Three Steps Back

“And then you just walked out? Just like that?”

If anything good had come from your Evening of Hell (as you had taken to calling last night's dinner), seeing Mr. Banner’s expression at the end of your story was probably it. He’d all but taken over the stacking at this point, leaving you with the sweeping, but his job lay forgotten in the crate at his knees. You flashed him a smile over the handle of your broom.

“Just like that.”

The older gentleman’s face continued to wear an expression of awe–until, in the very next moment, he burst into a short bout of laughter.

“You’re either crazy, [Name], or you’ve got the steeliest balls of anyone I’ve ever met.”

You snorted at this, then turned back to continue sweeping. “Hardly. I was just too annoyed to take it anymore.”

“Ha! Doubt very many people have the guts to walk away from dinner with Tony Stark, though.” You heard a couple of light clunks as Mr. Banner began stacking cans of tomato sauce again. “You might be the first.”

“I doubt it. It’s like the guy majored in being an asshole.”

“A _rich_ asshole, though, that’s the thing.”

“How many people could be _that_ willing to put up for him just because of his money?”

“Oh, honey.” Mr. Banner gave another short bark of laughter. “I used to work for the military, back when Stark would help out. You’d be surprised what they’d allow just to get their hands on a bit of his weapon technology.”

“That good at it, huh?”

“You wouldn’t even believe.”

“Well, maybe it was a good thing I walked out on him, then. Teach him that not everyone is going to put up with that mouth of his.”

After these words, you fell silent. The broom in your hands rasped gently against the tile as you gathered a small mound of gray dust and debris. You knelt to push your collection into a dustpan and, used to the quiet that had fallen, you started when Mr. Banner spoke again:

“What’d Doris think?”

“Think about what?” you asked after you recovered from the shock.

“About the end of your date last night. She doesn’t want to upset Mr. Stark, does she?”

“No,” you said with a long, low sigh. “She doesn’t.” You turned toward him with one hand still wrapped around the broom’s handle. “I didn’t tell her–and I’d appreciate if you didn’t either.”

“When am I s’posed to tell her?” Mr. Banner asked. “Does she even leave the house at all”

Your heart sank, just a little, at these words. It was important for Nana to get out, but also difficult. Not to mention that you were frequently so busy that taking her out wasn’t much of an option. “We go out, sometimes,” you offered a little halfheartedly. It was a relief to be able to add, “but today one of her friends is taking her out–shopping and lunch.”

“She excited?”

“Very.”

At least Nana had some friends. Mr. Banner was the closest claim you had on the term. Though Miss Potts, maybe…Well, no use going down that path. Your plan from there on out was to avoid anything related to Tony Stark like the plague and that _included_ his girlfriend.

“There.” Mr. Banner took a step back and wiped some sweat form his forehead with the back of his arm.

You walked over to his side and regarded the neat pyramid of tomato sauce cans. “Nice,” you said appreciatively.

“You bet your ass it is. That’ll advertise the sale better than a couple of printouts near the register will.”

“What would I do without you?”

“Fail, obviously.” He picked the stool off the floor and headed over the storage area. “I’ll grab the meat. You polish the front display area. The glass is filthy.”

“I’m the boss here,” you called after him, but only Mr. Banner’s laughter answered.

He was right, though. Foggy children's handprints coated the glass. Maybe you could consider putting something other than chocolate bars in the case, but it didn’t seem like the adults had better manners in not touching the glass. 

Things, for the most part, were looking up, you felt. Sure, last night had been a disaster, but you hadn’t heard from Mr. Stark since the incident. You were optimistic, perhaps foolishly so, that this meant he’d drop the whole dating Dr. Banner thing. It was hard to make things much clearer than storming out of a hotel, and besides that, Dr. Banner seemed like a decent guy. Mr. Stark would be an idiot to throw away his friendship over someone like you.

A quiet hum lifted from your throat as you wiped the smudges from the class. Work was even going quickly enough–thanks to Mr. Banner’s help–that you were reasonably assured of getting home early. Earlier, maybe, even than Nana. A bit of time to yourself would be absolutely wonderful.

So lost in this pleasant idea you were that you hardly registered the tinkle of the front door opening. If you did, you thought it was probably Mr. Banner taking some garbage out before he got to work on the meat. The closed sign on the door was generally enough to keep people out.

“Why, doesn’t it look nice in here!”

You whirled about, horror already painting your face white. At seeing Nana in her wheelchair, with a tall, auburn-haired woman about her age standing at her side, the rag in your hands dropped to the floor. Nana’s wizened lips pressed into a smile.

“See, Delores? Didn’t I tell you [Name] was doing a nice job?”

Delores smiled back. “It’s so clean–just like when you and Frank were here.”

“I could swear it was just yesterday.”

“Nana,” you blurted, loudly, hoping and _praying_ that Mr. Banner would hear and stay in the back–and that Nana wouldn’t decide to do a check of the whole building. “What are you doing here?”

“Why, I thought I’d give you a surprise,” she answered, then chuckled. “Looks like it worked, too. Just wanted to say hello before Delores and I have a night on the town.”

“It’s two in the afternoon,” you pointed out without thinking.

Nana waved your foolishness away and started to gently roll herself about her shop. Delores, smiling fondly at her, stayed near the front door.

“Oh!” Nana came to a swift halt in front the pyramid of cans. “What’s this? I didn’t know you could do things like this, [Name]. Wherever did you learn?”

“Um…internet?” you said as you edged toward the opening to the back of the store.

“Your grandfather and I use to just advertise on paper. But I suppose that times do change…” she trailed away and headed for the fruit section. Your arm waved widely in the door frame. Maybe if you closed the door, that would be enough of warning for Mr. Banner.

Nana, meanwhile, had made it to the apples. She moved in a slow circle around the display and yet _still_ you could not find the door. “What time is lunch?” you asked with barely suppressed panic. “You two don’t want to be late.”

An apple was plucked from its brethren and brought up to Nana’s eye. “[Name]?” she called. “Come here.”

You couldn’t reject this command without causing suspension, so, with another desperate look over your shoulder for the door–there it was, the bastard–you walked quickly over to Nana’s side.

“Yes, Nana?”

“Look at this apple.”

You bent and peered closely at it.

“Do you see what’s wrong?” She didn’t wait for you to answer. “There’s a bruise. You can’t sell the customers bruised fruit.”

You plucked it from Nana's hand and dropped the fruit in the front pocket of your apron. “Sorry, must’ve escaped me when I was setting things up. I’ll mark it down as trashed.”

“I hope, at least, you would have given the customer a discount?”

“Of course. Now–”

But then the sound you’d been dreading met your ears. You winced and clenched your teeth together; nothing, though, could stop Mr. Banner from walking with a crate of meat into the room. Upon spotting your grandmother, he stopped instantly.

“Bill?” Nana asked, after a brief, startled pause. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, Doris,” Mr. Banner answered with an even tone. “Hello. Having a nice day out?”

Your grandmother wheeled a bit closer. She looked at you, and you swallowed convulsively. Still, she seemed more confused than upset–though, of course, that couldn’t last long. “Didn’t you hear me, Bill? What are you doing here?”

Mr. Banner heaved a sigh and set the box down carefully at his feet. “Now, listen, Doris. You know what Frank said and you leaving [Name] here to–”

“You hired out!” Your grandmother spun toward you so quickly that you nearly tumbled backward into the tomato sauce display. “After everything I said to you. After everything I’ve done!”

“I haven’t hired out, Nana! He’s just helping me set up for tom–”

“I said no one but relations. This man is a stranger!”

“You asked him to watch the shop once so I thought it would be okay to–”

“Are you telling me you can’t run this shop on your own? That you’re still too much of a child? Jesus Christ, [Name]!” Nana threw her hands in the air. “You’re twenty-nine years old. When are you going to start being responsible?”

“I _am_ being responsible,” you snapped as you stood up to your full height. “Is letting this store go to seed because I can’t handle this much work _and_ taking care of you _and_ cooking _and_ cleaning being responsible?”

“Well, you certainly have time enough to go out with friends, like you did last night!”

“I only went out because you told me to!”

“Because I was trying to show you that I trusted you!”

Your mouth snapped shut; your eyes flashed down at Nana, but there was nothing further to say. After regarding you coldly, Nana shifted again to look at Mr. Banner. “I don’t know what my granddaughter has been telling you, Bill,” she said primly, “But we don’t need help. We’re [L Name]s. And we can handle ourselves.”

“Of course, Doris. Didn’t mean any harm.”

“I know you didn’t. Don’t let her suck you in. Have a nice afternoon.”

More quickly than you’d ever seen Nana move, she sped past him and out of the store. Delores blinked with clear confusion at you, then rushed outside after your grandmother. “Doris? Doris!”

A buzzing silence filled the air as this commotion faded into the street. Your heart drummed an angry tattoo in your ears while your palms vibrated at your side and your breath came in great, giant gasps.

“[Name]?” Mr. Banner asked shakily. “Are you okay?”

One, last, single breath whooshed from your nose. Then, in one, swift motion, you turned and kicked Mr. Banner’s neat stack of cans. The containers flew everywhere, rolling on the ground, smashing into the exposed fruits, and clattering in wave after wave onto the tile.

“I hate this!” you shouted, shoulders heaving. “I’m living my life for her! And she doesn’t say anything in thanks. It’s just go to dinner with some awful man, go out to do things I don’t want to do, take care of a store I’ve fucking hated since I was sixteen and for not a fucking thank you, just a ‘what a sucky granddaughter I have’ every single fucking day!”

“[Name]!”

You picked up a can and launched it in the direction of Mr. Banner’s voice. Blind with rage, you couldn’t tell if it met its target. “What would she do if I just stayed in Washington, huh? I was happy there! No billionaires to make me go on dates. No old women to tuck into bed. No fucking eight hour marathons of _Judge Judy_!”

Now that all the venom was starting come out, you didn’t really want to stop. So what if Mr. Banner saw you making a scene? It’s not like you would have the benefit of his company anymore. Nana would make sure to that.

“Because it’s her goal in life to make me miserable,” you said aloud. “She and Mr. Stark should make a club. I don’t even know why I’m doing this! I should just get on the next plane and–”

A quiet cough interrupted your tirade. You knew instantly that the voice did not belong to Mr. Banner and turned, slowly, tears in your eyes and fingers still wrapped tightly in your hair. Fear quickly ran like ice down your veins, quenching the fire as effectively as water would.

And there he was.

“Dr. Banner,” you said in a high-pitched voice. “What are you–”

“Take her,” Mr. Banner barked. He’d come up beside you when you weren’t paying attention and thrust you toward Dr. Banner as he said this. “Just take her so I can clean this place up!”

For someone no longer in the military, Mr. Banner still had quite a bit of body strength. Before you could do much of anything about your forward momentum, you found yourself tripping right into Dr. Banner’s chest. He was polite enough to steady you before he moved away, but you still blushed. It wasn’t even just the unexpected contact. Now that the anger was fading, you felt immensely embarrassed by your temper tantrum.

“No,” you said, “I–”

“Go!”

Before you could rush to the back for cleaning supplies, Dr. Banner’s hand closed around your upper arm. You whipped your head toward him, intending to snap at him, but he waylaid even that response.

“Come on,” said Dr. Banner quietly. “Let’s just go get some coffee. We’ll come right back.”

Your mouth worked, but all that seemed to do was make your eyes water more. When you looked desperately back at Mr. Banner, he already had his back turned as he sat in the pile of cans and picked them up one by one. Without speaking, you turned back toward Dr. Banner and gave him a silent nod. Just as silently, he let go of your arm and led you from the store.

With his back turned toward you, it was easier to smear the tears off your cheeks. Embarrassing as it was to be caught crying by a man you thought you’d never see again, anger was still the primary emotion you felt–even as Dr. Banner slowed and opened the door to a Starbucks just four doors down from The Stand.

“What do you want?” he asked as he followed you inside.

At two o’ clock in the afternoon, most of the patrons appeared to be getting their drinks to go–at least if the long line but mostly empty sitting area meant anything. You shook your head and answered scratchily:

“Nothing.”

“Have something small. You’ll feel better.”

You did not want something small. You just wanted to go back to the store and clean things up. “Coffee,” you said after a brief pause. “Black. _Just_ a small.”

“Coming right up. Why don’t you find us a table?”

Dr. Banner must have been a very trusting man to leave you standing there while he worked his way through the line. Maybe you could have darted out the door and ran back to the shop, but that presented the problem of explaining to Mr. Banner why you were back so early and still so upset. So, instead of leaving, you looked blearily around the store until you found a two person table in near the front.

You settled in to watch people walk across the street and didn’t realize how much time had passed until a warm paper cup pressed against your forearm.

“Feeling any better?” Dr. Banner asked as he sat down in the seat across from yours. You took the cup he had left beside you in both of your hands and looked at it instead of at him.

“No.”

“I’m sorry. That was quite an impressive feat you pulled.”

“Impressive and stupid.” You tossed your head from side to side. “What were you doing there anyway? The store is closed on Thursdays.”

“I know,” Dr. Banner answered. “Actually…hold on…” He held up a finger and you watched, brows furrowed, as he dug around in his pocket. A moment later, he took out a small roll of bills and held it up in the light. Immediately, you backed as far from him as you could without leaving the table.

“What’s that?” you asked with a touch of nerves in your voice.

One corner of Dr. Banner’s mouth pushed down. “It’s money. To make up for last night.” 

“I didn’t pay for my meal. I wasn’t even around to.”

“It’s not for the meal. It’s for the cab ride home. It can’t have been cheap, going from the city to Manhattan.”

“No,” you said quickly, trying as hard as you could to remain calm as you scooted back up to the edge of the table and looked at your fingertips wrapped around the coffee cup. “I don’t want Mr. Stark’s pity.”

“This has nothing to do with Tony,” Dr. Banner responded calmly–as if, in fact, he hadn’t noticed your minor panic attack. “I feel responsible. You shouldn’t have to pay to get away from him.”

“I’m not taking your money.”

“Tony _does_ pay me to work for him. It’s not going to break my bank or anything.”

At last, your eyes snapped up to meet his; your eyebrows set into a straight line. “As much as Mr. Stark would like to believe so, I am not _poor_. A single taxi ride isn’t going to get us evicted from our apartment.”

“I’m not saying you need it,” Dr. Banner said. “I would just feel better if you didn’t have to pay for last night. So take it. Please?”

Your gaze slid past his face and toward the line of patrons in the back of the shop. Though your lips pursed tightly against one another, you took one hand off your cup and flipped it palm up. A moment later, the light weight of the money pressed into your palm. You closed your fingers around the roll and slid your fist into your lap.

“Thanks,” said Dr. Banner.

You nodded rather than spoke and tossed back a mouthful of coffee to avoid further conversation. Already your thoughts drifted back toward the store and the mess of cans and squashed fruit splayed across the floor.

“Listen, I don’t mean to pry, but what was happening back there?” he asked,

You blinked up at Dr. Banner’s face. He certainly didn’t _look_ annoyed or even amused. In fact, the man looked almost concerned. You’d seen that face before, but for some reason you trusted it on him.

“Oh,” you said as you sat your paper cup onto the dark wooden table. “That. Just a temper tantrum.”

“I gathered as much. But is everything all right?”

You raised a single eyebrow. “You graduate top of your class in psychology?”

“Nuclear Physics.”

A low whistle slipped from between your lips. “No wonder Mr. Stark is so concerned about you dating someone beneath you.”

Dr. Banner cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I don’t think Tony really meant that. According to the very brief apology offered to me last night, Tony promised Pepper he wouldn’t bother us anymore after last night.”

“So?”

“As far as I can tell, that was all a last ditch effort to show you how fantastic your life could be dating me.”

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “That’s Tony for you. The man might be a genius but not all of his ideas are.”

“Let me get this straight. He thinks that dating you would encourage me to aspire to greater professional pursuits and my life would just magically be fixed?”

"Apparently.”

“Wow.”

“I did tell him that was ridiculous, if it’s any consolation.”

“Not really, but thanks for trying anyway.”

For a moment, the little table fell silent. You stared out the window out of the corner of one eye, still too frustrated to do much of anything else. Across the way, Dr. Banner looked behind himself and around the restaurant before he settled his shoulders and turned back to you.

“So _is_ everything okay?”

You took a deep breath and stretched your feet out beneath you. “Everything is fine,” you said, still without looking at Dr. Banner. “I’m just not running the shop the way Nana wants me to. And I want to make her happy, don’t get me wrong! I just…” you looked out the window and felt more tears pooling on your lower eyelid. “I wish it didn’t always have to be on her terms.”

“Sounds like you have it rough.”

Your hoarse chuckle surprised even you. “Yeah, well, now you know why I’d rather be off traveling. Being back home with Nana wasn’t ever something I dreamed about it.”

“Well, traveling wasn’t exactly my idea of a grand life either. I was happy to stop.”

You swiveled your head back toward him. Dr. Banner didn’t look upset, so the thought that he might be having a contest over whose life was suckier, though it ran through your mind, was rejected instantly. “So you’re happy to be with Mr. Stark?”

He lifted his cup to his mouth and drained it. "Immensely.”

“That the only reason you put up with him?”

“Hardly. Tony might be crazy, but I do enjoy speaking with him. He’s my best friend.” You leveled an unbelieving stare at his face. “He’s not always an ass, that’s what I’m saying.”

“Huh.” You looked back down at your coffee cup and swirled the remains around. “Maybe we should trade.”

“Oh, no. That wouldn’t be advisable.”

“Eh?” Dr. Banner sounded so serious that you had to cock your head to one side. “What do you mean?”

“I have no confidence that I could handle your grandmother.”

You laughed. “Well, I don’t think I could handle Tony, so we’re even.”

“No, because Tony and Pepper are a package deal. I have help.”

“Miss Potts must be an amazing woman to be able to handle him.”

“She’s one of the most capable women I’ve ever met.”

The conversation might have continued, but guilt gnawed at your stomach at the thought of Mr. Banner, alone, picking things up. What happened if Nana came back? She couldn’t hurt him, but it was your fault she was so upset. You shouldn't have hired him. You knew, even then, this would be the end result. Mr. Banner shouldn’t have to deal with whatever Nana might decide to say if she found him still there.

As if reading your mind, Dr. Banner asked, “Ready to go back?”

“Yes,” you sighed. “And no. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“We all have temper problems some times,” Dr. Banner said. He looked oddly amused at the statement, which somehow made you feel a bit better. If even the entirely calm and always placid Dr. Banner had temper issues on occasion, then maybe it was okay for you, too.

“I’ll apologize for knocking down those cans,” you said. “But I’m not going to apologize for feeling the way I do. No one should have to apologize for feeling trapped.”

“I don’t think you should have to.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the only one.” You got to your feet with your nearly empty cup still clutched in one hand. “Thanks for cab ride and the coffee, Dr. Banner.”

“Bruce.”

“What?”

“Bruce. Tony was right about one thing. You can call me Bruce.”

You blinked. “Are you sure about that?”

“Sure.” He shrugged with his fingers interlaced in front of him. “We’re friends, right?”

You nodded hesitantly. “Friends.”

His eyes darted toward the table as he licked his lips. Expecting him to add something, you waited at the corner of the table. “Listen…” said Bruce.

“Yes?” you asked after he remained silent for nearly half a minute.

Bruce took a deep breath as he looked you in the eyes. “Would you be adverse to…going out with me sometime?”

You took several quick, though small, steps backward. “I thought you said that Mr. Stark–”

“This has nothing to do with Tony,” he said with tiny smile. Your eyes narrowed with suspicion, but soon Bruce added, “I like you. And it’d be nice to hang out with people that aren’t Tony or Pepper sometimes.”

Sometime was harder to reject than a specific day. You couldn’t say you would be busy "sometime"’ But then, when you thought about it, you found you didn’t really want to reject the offer anyway. Hadn’t you just screamed that you didn’t have anyone to talk to other than Mr. Banner, Nana, and Tony Stark? Bruce, however, didn’t seem to think he’d managed to convince you yet.

“You can pick the place this time. No fancy restaurants or…blind dates.”

“How about a bar?” you said, without really thinking. That was just where all your other dates had been and it hadn’t been awful.

“What?”

“A bar,” you repeated. “Just go…hang out. We can talk or…dance…or…” you trailed away.

Bruce, you remembered, was a nuclear physicist. Nuclear physicists probably hated bars. He didn’t look entirely convinced, to be sure, but he still offered you a smile.

“I can’t really dance.”

“Neither can I,” you said. “So we can just talk.”

“I’d like that. Friday evening? Say eight? There’s a bar right around the corner.”

A pleasant bubble of happiness lifted your heart. “Friday evening, eight o’ clock,” you answered. “See you then.”


	13. Can't Keep Your Demons in a Bottle

Ten minutes after arriving at the bar, and Bruce already _knew_ this entire meeting had been a terrible misjudgment on his part. He’d known it since before he left the coffee shop, really, since you had left him there that Wednesday with a hard pulse drumming in his hands. Now he could feel the pulse of music going through him, from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head.

Why was he here? The whole situation seemed a blur. Something about Tony’s constant poking, Pepper’s obvious disappointment at losing her only entirely sane acquaintance, sure. But that didn’t mean he should have done this. You’d given him an easy out; he never had to see you again. With you on the other side of that table, though, your anger, your shaking limbs, the way you spoke so quietly after being so enraged...maybe it all just reminded him of himself.

Bruce wouldn’t even get on the _subway_ with Betty. Here he was in a club, agitated, on edge, upset with himself; Tony suspicious; and you nowhere to be found.

His heart began to hammer in his chest over and above the beat of the music.

What would Betty have asked of him in this situation? She would have told him it would be fine. She would have told him that she trusted him. A lot of good that did her in the end. Bruce couldn’t even trust himself. From now on, _that_ would be the image embedded in his mind when he thought of her: the fear in her eyes, the fear in _his_ heart, seeing her with that other man and being relieved at Betty finally being safe, while at the same time feeling his heart break because it couldn’t be with him

“Bruce!”

He heard the faint call and turned almost unwillingly in the direction of its source. _You_ weaved quickly toward the crowd toward him, not Betty. The realization gave Bruce the vague feeling of a fist connecting with his stomach.

“Shit,” he murmured before you could close the gap. That was right: He’d said you could call him by his first name. What was Bruce getting himself into? A girl showed the same familiar tendency toward anger that he felt and suddenly he was shoving away all his moral codes. Maybe Tony really _was_ a bad influence.

“Bruce,” you called again as you skidded to halt in front of him.

Bruce pursed his lips and ran a hand through his hair. Should he tell you to go back to calling him Doctor Banner? He had to set his boundaries back up somehow.

“Hey!”

His hands found their familiar hold in his pockets; he felt his eyebrows lift. “Yeah, hey, [Name].”

You looked nice. Bruce had to admit that. He’d never seen you out of professional wear–or with such a genuine smile on your face, he noted. Your hair was down; your outfit clearly something you found comfortable. It took the correction right out of his mouth.

“I’m really glad you could make it.” Your smile faded a bit. Bruce thought you must have noticed his reluctance. “I’ve been looking forward to getting out of the apartment all week.”

Thankfully, the music in the club remained quiet enough that he could hear your conversation now that you were close. He could also hear a distinct rumble of thunder. That promised thunderstorm sounded as if it were rolling in. Another thing to check off on his list of reasons to be nervous.

“You’re, uh, grandmother okay with this?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, I asked permission this time around. Mr. Banner is watching her for the evening, since her nurse already took off.”

“Things all right between everyone now?”

“I guess.” You rocked back and forth on your heels. “He can’t really help anymore at the store, which sucks, but he forgave me for freaking out the other day. Nana probably just agreed to let him come over so she could lecture him more.”

He nodded vaguely, but Bruce couldn’t seem to keep his focus on conversation. His thoughts kept snapping back to escape routes he could take if this situation got too overbearing. Then he realized you _probably_ expected a response. He licked his lips as he tried to force his mind over and away from the roadblocks of insecurity. Your shoulders rose and fell and the smile disappeared entirely, replaced by a look of distinct curiosity.

“Are you okay?” you asked. 

Bruce felt his pulse skyrocket. He shifted back from you. “Yes,” he said quickly. “Why?”

“Nothing. You just look…” You trailed away and Bruce watched with anxious butterflies as your eyes roamed across his face. “Peaky,” you finished at last. “You look peaky.”

He didn’t answer that. Your eyes narrowed for a split second more, then:

“Well,” you said with a clap of your hands. “You don’t want to dance, right?”

He shook his head. “I–don’t think I should get that close to other people.” A wince followed these words. ' _Yes, Bruce, that will solve everything. Just come right out and tell her you’ve probably killed enough people to rank as a serial killer.'_

But you answered with a shrug. “Then let’s get a drink.”

Bruce didn’t want a drink, but at least following you over to the bar gave him something to do. Friday night meant that the wide dance floor of the club was full of dancers. Since New York City offered so many other venues with a greater capacity for wantonness, however, this particular building was emptier than most. You pulled yourself up onto a bar stool without looking to see if Bruce was still at your shoulder.

“One Corona please," you told the waiting bartender. Then you slid some money across the polished wood bar as Bruce settled himself in the chair beside you just in time to see said bartender nod. A few moments later, she placed glass full of amber liquid in front of you. Your fingers wrapped around it before you glanced over at him. “You want anything? My treat, since you paid for the coffee.”

“No. I–I don’t drink.”

“Really?” He nodded.

You shrugged again and then got off your seat. Several gulps of beer disappeared down your throat as you wandered over to one of the high, round tables surrounding the dance floor. As before, you took a seat and Bruce followed suit. Minutes passed as he looked up, down, around–anywhere but you. At last he heard the dull thunk of your glass on the table.

“You know, if you didn’t feel like coming tonight, you could have texted me or something.”

His attention shifted sluggishly back to you. You didn’t look angry, but Bruce couldn’t tell exactly _what_ you were feeling. He tried to smile as he answered, “I don’t have your number.”

“Could have asked Mr. Stark.”

“Then he would have known I had plans to see you.”

“And that’s…bad.”

“I don’t want him in my business.”

“In that case, you could at least try to _look_ like you’re having fun.”

Bruce shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He didn’t want to deny his lack of enjoyment being there. Maybe if this date was miserable, you’d never bother with him again. Not that had worked before.

Wait. Had he just called this a date?

You picked up your beer again. “Well at least one of us should have some fun.” The glass met your lips and you drained it. After setting it down, you licked your lips and Bruce again felt the need to shift slightly away from you. “One of the perks of not having a license,” you said with a gesture toward the empty container. “You’re never the designated driver.”

In an attempt to appear slightly less standoffish, Bruce moved one his arms to the table. “Any particular reason you don’t want to drive? Other than the alcoholic benefits, I mean.”

“Smartass,” you retorted, but your smile had returned. Your gaze turned toward the dancers in the center of the club. “I couldn’t afford it. I lived on my own in Washington. It’s not easy to do that _and_ save up for college. A car just...didn't seem worth it.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to get to classes if you could drive?”

Your smile dried up at the edges. “Wouldn’t know. Never got to go. Finally saved up enough money, paid for my first semester…Papa died. Nana got hurt. I was needed elsewhere.”

Now the smile had disappeared entirely. Bruce thought he could see a few tears in your eyes, then you brushed them away and he knew.

“Could you–”

“I can’t get the money back. I already asked. Besides, I don’t have the time anymore. I’m not like you. I’d probably flunk right out.”

Bruce looked down at his lap, wetting his lips again, then looked back up through squinted eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, that’s my fantastic life. But I’m here to forget that and have fun. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I want to know about _you_.”

“Me? But why?” Again, he felt that familiar rush of fear and anger. Beneath the surface of his conscious mind, Bruce could hear a whisper growing in ferocity. _Fear. Anger. Protect. Run._

One of your fingers ran along the rim of your drink. “Why were you in the Arctic, for one?”

_Fear. Run._ The voice wouldn’t disappear, even when Bruce screwed his eyes shut. If he didn’t say something, that would only make things worse. He settled for a single word: “Research.”

“Is it the ‘If I tell you, I have to kill you’ kind?”

That earned you a wry smile. “Something like that.”

Silence fell. You stared down at the table and Bruce stared at you. He would go as far as to say he liked you, that he enjoyed your company. But that didn’t mean he could tell you his secrets. If something happened tonight– _Anger. Fear. Fear. Run. Protect._ –or anytime you were with him, Bruce couldn’t leave you with all the answers someone might come knocking to ask. The longer the silence went on, however, the more he could feel the excitement leaking out of you and dissipating into the dark air.

“Do you want to dance?" you asked.

Bruce blinked several times; he’d almost forgotten you were there, so loud was the clamoring in his head now.

“No. I’d prefer if we–if we didn’t dance at all.”

“I just thought,” you said without looking up at him, “that you’d like a change of pace. I don’t like it when people press me for details either.”

“You’re not…” Bruce couldn’t be sure how he had the capacity to care at this point. “You’re not _mad_ at me?”

This caused you to look up. “Mad? No, of course not. Your business is your business. Friends don’t have to tell friends everything.”

“We’re still friends?”

The strangeness of this question made your mouth open, but before you could ask him what he meant, the other two chairs at the table pulled out and a couple of gentlemen dressed in policemen uniforms sat in them. Your knuckles turned white around your emptied beer glass.

“Well, if it isn’t my old friend, [Name],” the one to Bruce’s left said with a tip of his hat. “You remember I was telling you about her the other day, Charlie? This is the girl!”

The other man said nothing, but his gaze seemed to sharpen. All the blood had drained out of your face.

_Fear. Fear. Fear. Run!_ Bruce shoved his hands against each other to keep them from shaking. A couple of policemen didn't mean he'd been discovered. Besides, they seemed more interested in you than him.

The first policeman wrapped an arm around your shoulder and drew you to his side. “Not causing any trouble are you, [Name]?”

“N–No, sir. Hello, Officer Kravoski.”

“And how’s that old grandmother of yours?” You started to spit out a ‘fine,’ but the man continued over you. “Not causing _her_ any trouble are you?”

This he wanted an actual answer to. The man pulled away to look at you.

“No more than usual,” you answered faintly.

“No more than usual!” He laughed and looked over toward Charlie, who grinned back at him. Officer Kravoski caught Bruce's eye as he pressed you more deeply into his ribs. “This ol’ girl use to give us quite a time back in her high school days. Finished by giving her grandma quite a scare. I didn’t think I’d see her back in town! No one on the force did, did we, Charlie?”

Charlie shook his head, still smiling. “No, sir.”

“Charlie here just joined a few months ago,” Officer Kravoski said to the top of your head. “And who's your friend?”

Bruce could not find it in himself to answer. The whisper started to roar. Every cell in his body screamed for him to run or pay the consequences, but running would certainly make these men give chase. A quavering smile graced Bruce’s features, but no answer came out of his lips.

“This is Dr. Banner, a new friend of mine,” you explained as you at last extricated yourself from the man’s grip. “Dr. Banner, this is Officer Kravoski. He’s a friend of Nana’s.”

“And an old friend of [Name]’s.” He reached out a hand toward Bruce, who neglected to shake it. “The name is Edward. Over there is Charlie Moon, my partner.”

Bruce nodded. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth, a growl might come out instead of words. Your eyes darted nervously between the two policemen on either side of you. No words were spoken. Charlie, however, rubbed his chin.

“Did you say Dr. Banner? Ed, wasn’t there an incident in Harlem a few years ago done by someone with that name? Tons of damage. The director mentioned there was reason to believe the perpetrator was back in the city after that whole alien attack on Manhattan.”

The blood in Bruce’s veins heated up.

Officer Kravoski cocked his head and threw a glance at you. “Yeah, he did, but the trail went cold.”

“You ever been involved in the military, Dr. Banner?” asked Charlie. 

Bruce opened his mouth. _Respond! Respond!_ Nothing was worse than a short answer!

When he didn’t give one, Charlie turned toward you. “Your friend, Miss [L Name]. You know what he does for a living?”

_Don’t answer,_ Bruce prayed. Please, don’t answer. But how could you know not to?

“He works with Tony Stark," you said flatly.

“You know, Charlie, I think that guy was _with_ Mr. Stark that day. You don’t think-"

Clearly excited, Charlie broke in to ask you another question. “And what does he do there?”

You pursed your lips into a thin line. “I don’t know.”

“Come on, [Name],” said Officer Kravoski. “Don’t be difficult. If your grandmother finds out–”

“I don’t care what Nana thinks,” you snapped. “Stay out of my business. _And_ his.”

You were…defending him? Bruce could hardly tell. People. Noise. Interrogation. Two officers that _knew_ and now they were going to _look_ for him and he was going to have to _leave_ and they didn’t have the _right_ and they were ruining _everything_ and–

“Hey. Did you hear me? What do you do at Stark Industries?” Charlie asked. Bruce looked up, but he could hardly see. Everything was going red–dark, dark, _dark_ red. A shoulder nudged him roughly. “Are you mute? I said–”

_Anger!_ “Leave me alone!” Bruce burst out. The force of his words, timed with his leaping to his feet, made the officer’s chair topple. Charlie hit the ground. “Stop talking to me! I don’t want to answer any questions! You either get a warrant for my arrest, or you leave. Now."

Office Kravoski stood up. He fumbled in his pockets. Bruce’s shoulders heaved up and down. _No,_ he said to the anger in his head. _Not. Here_. But the Other Guy wasn’t listening. Anger. Protect. Protect. Protect.

“Sir, stand down. Do you understand me?” Office Kravoski asked. “Stand down.”

Bruce whirled at him. “I didn’t even want to be here! I don’t want this to happen! If you know what’s good for you, you’ll just stop talking and you’ll let me walk out of here and you won’t follow!”

“I can’t let that happen. You need help.”

“Don’t tell me I need help!” Bruce stepped closer. _No,_ he told the Other Guy. _If you touch him, it’s all over. They’ll shoot._ But maybe that was what he wanted because Bruce was quite nearly nose-to-nose with Office Kravoski. “I was doing fine until you showed up. If you don’t–”

“Hey!”

A glass whistled by Bruce’s face and shattered against the wall. The surrounding people fell completely silent. Nostrils flaring, growl rumbling in his chest, Bruce wrenched his gaze toward you.

“You’re going to have to pay for that,” the bartender called. You tossed a glare in her direction.

“I’ll pay for it tomorrow! Now all of you shut up!”

The music continued; no one outside of a ten foot radius seemed to know what was going on. The Other Guy continued to howl inside Bruce’s brain but made no move as you marched over and pushed him away from Officer Kravoski.

“Outside,” you shouted. “Now!”

Another push, another two feet stumbled away. Attention began to divert. What was one more bar fight? So long as the club wasn’t getting closed, no one cared.

“[Name]?” Officer Kravoski asked.

Charlie rose slowly off the floor.

“Oh, lay off!” you snapped as you shoved Bruce again. “He’s not whoever you guys are after.”

“You’ve had worse company, [Name], and if you don’t stop, we’ll be stopping by Doris’.”

“Tell her!” You waved your hands above your head. “I don’t care. She thinks I’m a shit granddaughter anyway. I can deal. But don’t bother Bruce. He’s not one of them. He’s been in _India_ until recently.”

“He attacked me!” Charlie protested.

“He’s _drunk_ ,” you countered. “And you can’t blame Bruce for you not being able to stay in your own damn chair.” Another push. “Goodnight, gentlemen. I look forward to speaking with you in the morning.”

By the time you forced him out the door, Bruce was gasping. He had very little space in his head now. The Hulk, having been let off the leash so easily, then locked up, was eager to get out again. Once out in the cool air, Bruce fell against the brick wall and tried to inhale and distract himself. The rain soaked him immediately; his clothes stuck to his skin; thunder rolled across the sky. But he couldn’t forget that those men were still in there. Maybe they were calling for backup. Maybe your grandmother was going to call someone. Maybe his relatively happy life in Manhattan was over.

A hand smashed into his shoulder and wrenched him toward your face. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

For one wild, crazy moment he wanted to kiss you. No. The _Other Guy_ wanted to kiss you. No _he_ wanted to kiss you. No, it was the Hulk. It had to be the Hulk. Violence. He needed violence. No, Bruce needed to remain calm. This would pass. He could get it to pass.

“Are you drunk? You didn’t drink while you were in there. Did you drink before you showed up here?” you demanded. 

He shook his head, but could only gasp.

You started to pull him toward the curb. “We’re taking you home. Before you can get into a fight with some more policemen.”

“No!” Bruce tore himself free of your grasp and stumbled back toward the building.

“What the–”

“I can’t get in a cab right now!” He pressed a shaking hand to his mouth. Not here. Not with all these–Not with you–Breaths ripped out of his chest; he couldn’t tell if the roaring was still in his head or if he was standing on the street corner acting like an animal. Having trouble keeping track of everything around him, it startled Bruce when you forced his hands down and glowered into his face. Rational thought left him entirely. He grabbed your head and pressed his lips roughly to yours.

You responded, or at least Bruce thought you did. Lips moving back against his? Fingers very hesitantly in his hair?

He tore away as soon as the iota of himself left realized what was going on.

“Oh my god.” Bruce stepped backward, trembling from head to foot. “Damn it. Oh my god.”

You closed the distance. He looked away, unsure if he was more afraid of you wanting to kiss him or hit him. Instead, you just gawked.

“You really _are_ drunk.”

“N-No.” How was he going to finish that sentence? Just experiencing an inhuman amount of emotion? Just trying not to explode in fury and kill you by smashing you into the building until your brains spill out of your head?

“You’re drunk,” you said again. “Great. You’re drunk. You got into a fight with a policeman, and you kissed me. Jeez. Jeez.”

Maybe it was the chill temperature of the rain, but Bruce felt a coolness start to seep back into his brain. He mentally squirmed–there was definitely more room there than there had been five minutes ago. Words still didn’t want to come, but the Hulk seemed to be calming down. Bruce did not respond quickly enough to deter you, however.. Your fingers latched around his wrist.

“Come on. I’m taking you home.”

“I can’t…” Bruce managed.

“Yeah, I know. No cabs. Don’t want you murdering the cab driver. I’ll walk you.” You yanked none to gently on his arm. “Come on.”

He followed you in a daze. At the corner, he saw your eye dart toward him one more time.

“Jeez,” you muttered again. “Drunk and kissing me. Jeez. _Jeez._ ”


	14. Regrets? I've Had a Few

“[Name]? [Name]?”

A gentle hand shaking your shoulder followed the gentle voice calling your name. You frowned and felt the first stirrings of consciousness. Where were you? Your eyelids fluttered and you caught, right front of your face, a pillow in a color that didn’t match the ones in your room. The fingers returned to your shoulder.

“[Name]?”

Too sleepy to register fear, you rolled over. Your eyes flooded with weak, gray light. With a groan, you smashed your palms onto your face and rubbed at your cheeks. The sound of rain drummed against whatever windows were in the room. The hand retreated and, after some time had passed, you dropped your hands to look up at the high ceiling of Stark Tower’s living room.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me,” you said loudly.

“Something wrong?”

That got a bit of a start out of you, but it was just Pepper. She sat on a footstool nearby, looking almost concerned at your reaction.

Again, you pressed a hand over your eyes. “I can’t believe I stayed the _night_.” You rubbed your fingers against the mats in your hair as you dragged yourself to a seated position. “God, I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” said Pepper, but her eyebrows pressed together. “Is everything all right?”

“Ugh, fine.” You leaned forward and began to look for your shoes. “Do you know what time it is?”

“About a quarter to nine. Why?”

In response, you threw your back onto the couch again. “ _Shit._ Shit!”

“[Name]. What’s wrong?”

Your eyes slid shut. “Nothing. Nana is just going to kill me. I was supposed to be back by eleven. Even if Mr. Banner stayed the night…” You trailed away, unable to finish. Pepper was friendly with Nana; doubtless she wouldn’t be pleased to hear you degrade your grandmother.

But Pepper didn’t seem to notice. She bit her lip for a moment, then cocked her to head to one side. “But, [Name], what _are_ you doing here?”

Reasonable question though this was, you could feel a bit of a blush seep into your cheeks before you answered. “Oh. Right. I should have asked if I could stay. Sorry. It was just–We made it here about midnight. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

That only appeared to make Pepper more concerned. “‘We’?”

The blush deepened. “Bruce and I.”

“Bruce went out last night?” Pepper blinked. Then her eyes widened. “Is _that_ why the police were here?”

“The police were here?!”

“This morning, around eight. That’s why we’re already up. Normally Tony sleeps until noon on Saturdays.”

“Is everything okay?” you demanded. “What did they want? You aren’t any trouble, are you?”

“No, no. They were looking for Bruce, and Tony talked with them. They left without any trouble. We just weren’t sure how anyone would have found out he lived here.”

“I told them,” you said with a sigh. “I didn’t think they’d come all the way over to investigate.”

Pepper surprised you by reaching forward and snatching your wrist. Your eyes met hers. “Why? What happened last night? Did Bruce do something?”

You tugged yourself gently free of her grip and rubbed your eyes with your fists. “What _didn’t_ happen last night?”

“What do you mean?”

The alarmed note in Pepper’s voice sent tremors up your spine. Your hands fell back to the cushions. “It was just a really eventful night. We went to a club. Some policeman I knew showed up. I guess Bruce was drunk because when they started pestering him, he screamed right back. I had to shove him out the front door.”

“Bruce doesn’t drink.”

“He must have last night,” you answered. “He just…freaked out. I thought he looked sort of sick when I got there, but other than that? No warning. And he _kissed_ me,” you added as a quiet after thought.

Pepper’s mouth nearly fell open, though of course she was much too professional to gape.

“Bruce _kissed_ you?”

Your blush, having faded, flared right back up. You nodded silently. Of all the things to admit to a woman you barely knew.

She pursed her lips together. “Do us all a favor and don’t tell Tony. He’ll be so hard to live with.”

“As if he isn’t already.”

Pepper smiled at this, which made you feel a bit more at ease.

“Anyway," you went on, "I took him outside. He said he didn’t want a cab. We walked back here, and by then it was pouring. I didn’t mean to stick around so long. Just until the storm passed.”

Pepper shrugged one shoulder and stood up. “Well, as you can see, it hasn’t. You were more than welcome to spend the night. Lord knows we have enough room. It’s odd that JARVIS didn’t say anything, though. Normally he alerts us to guests. We could have found you an actual room.”

“The couch was fine,” you assured her. “Who’s JARVIS?”

“Oh, he’s Tony’s personal assistant. Completely artificial intelligence and quite a work of art, really. Maybe he didn’t say anything because you were with Bruce.”

“Maybe. So how’d you know I was here then?”

“I didn’t. I was actually headed to the kitchen when I found you asleep there.”

“And you didn’t assume I was here to have sex with Mr. Stark?”

“The thought _did_ occur to me,” Pepper frowned at the ceiling, “but normally I find _them_ naked in Tony’s bed. Besides,” here she chuckled, “you seem to have a bit better taste.”

“ _I’d_ like to think so.”

She looked as if she had more to say, but right then, your phone burst into song. You jumped, then began to dig through the purse sitting on the carpet. You didn’t have to look at the number to know who was calling.

“Nana?”

“[Name], where in heaven’s name are you?”

You winced. Things had been going so nicely. Sure, she’d been pissed off at finding Mr. Banner in her store, but Nana seemed to think he was on her side. It was easier for the two of you to pretend nothing had happened at all. If Nana was pissed about you going on a blind date without her permission, though, she sure as hell wasn’t going to like you staying the night with the same guy a few weeks later.

“Hi, Nana,” you said, as breezily as you could manage. “Yeah, I’m really sorry that I didn’t make it home last night. Everything is fine, I promise.”

“Did I ask if everything was fine? [Name], Officer Kravoski was over. What are you _doing_?”

You tossed your head toward the ceiling again–anything to look at something other than Pepper. How embarrassing, having her listen to this. Nana was speaking loud enough that even quieting your phone wouldn't prevent the entire _room_ from overhearing what she said. 

“I’m actually at Stark Tower, Nana. I had to stop here before I came home last night, and it was raining too hard to get a cab.”

“Don’t _lie_ to me, [Name]. You’ve been lying quite a lot recently. It’s as if you’re in high school all over again!”

“Nana, I’m _not_ lying.”

“Officer Kravoski certainly didn’t see you with _Tony Stark_ last night. If you aren’t trying to involve yourself with him so our store can benefit, I really don’t see the point in allowing you to continue to waste your time being so overly sociable.”

“Nana,” you repeated. “Look, it’s not what you think. I went out last night _exactly_ where I told you. I had to help the guy I was with home. He’s Tony Stark’s friend. You saw him at the lacrosse game, remember? If you want, I can–”

“[Name], I don’t want to hear any more excuses. Mr. Banner and I came up with a solution for the store, but now I’m seriously rethinking allowing it. You’re lucky he has stayed over. Otherwise, something might have happened to me, and I shudder to think what would happen to you if I sickened or died.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“I know, [Name]. We’ll talk more when you get home. Good bye.”

The line went dead. Slowly, you dropped the hand holding the phone to your side. You couldn’t bear to glance at Pepper. What would she think? Angry tears stung your eyes, but you forced them away before getting up with a sigh.

"Is everything all right?” Pepper asked.

“Everything is fine. I just disappointed my grandma again. I should probably head home.”

“In this weather?”

“Yeah, better now than later.”

“And your clothes from last night are still soaked!”

It occurred to you that you and Pepper might not be having the same conversation. You dropped your wet socks and looked over at her. Still on her feet, she had her arms crossed over her chest as she shook her head from side to side.

“Absolutely not," she said firmly. "You’ll get sick. I’ll lend you some clothes, and you can wait here until yours are dry. Happy can drive you home afterward.”

“Oh, no. Please. I’ve already intruded. Nana will probably get mad at you for helping me out.”

Pepper didn't look one bit afraid. In fact, she actually smiled. “I insist. Besides, I do have _some_ experience dealing with Doris. If she has a problem, I will be more than happy to speak with her myself.” She turned. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to my bedroom, and we’ll find you some clothes.”

******

Twenty minutes later, you padded barefoot into the kitchen, now wearing a pair of Pepper’s old sweats. Surprising though it was to find out she owned _any_ clothing that was less than office wear, you were still grateful for her pressuring you to put on _anything_ dry. At least now you were finally somewhat warm.

With a yawn, you wandered over to the refrigerator. Pepper had said you could take whatever you wanted, and you couldn’t deny that you were hungry. It seemed unlikely, but maybe Mr. Stark kept things as simple as milk and cereal. No such luck. You couldn’t even identify half of what was in there. Something _might_ have been orange soda, but the test tube it was in made you wary of trying it.

“This place,” you mumbled as you closed the door. You’d have to wait for Pepper to get back from taking your clothes downstairs. Hopefully _she_ knew what was edible and what was not.

The sound of someone else entering the kitchen caught your attention. You looked up, and much to your dread and-slash-or elation, you saw Bruce. He was wearing the same suit he’d been wearing the night before, and his hair looked a lot more wavy than usual.

“Good morning,” you said, hoping the words sounded casual.

Bruce froze in his tracks to stare at you like a deer in the headlights. His fingers played with the edge of his glasses and his hair. Then he swallowed. “Oh, hey, [Name]. Are you–Are you staying for breakfast?” 

You couldn’t tell if he was trying to pretend the whole kissing thing didn’t happen or not. Best not to mention it until he did. After clearing your throat uncomfortably, you answered:

“Yeah, Pepper said I could. She didn’t want to make me walk back home, so I’m stuck here until her hospitality wears off.”

Bruce smiled. “That probably won’t happen.”

“I figured as much, but best to plan ahead.”

He glanced at you with another half-smile, then trotted over to one of the cabinets. After he found a box of oatmeal, Bruce turned back to you.

“Where did you sleep?” he asked. 

“Afraid I slept with you and just got up before you did?”

Bruce stopped smiling and looked unsure of what reaction he should give.

You rolled your eyes. “I slept on the couch.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Was I _supposed_ to sleep in your bed?”

“Well, no, but we could have found you an actual bed.”

“You didn’t really seem in any condition to help me out with that last night.” This caused you to frown. “Speaking of, for someone that drunk, you _really_ don’t seem hung over.”

“Oh. Well…”

“No headache. You’re eating. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“I have an unusually high alcohol tolerance?”

You snorted. “That kiss last night didn’t seem sober.”

Bruce opened his mouth as his eyes rolled toward the floor. The packet of instant oatmeal in his hands seemed all but forgotten. Before he could offer up an excuse, however, someone else broke up into the conversation:

“Is it my birthday?” 

Both of you looked wildly around to see Tony Stark lounging against the door frame.

“Because I can’t think of a better gift than waking up to see you both in my kitchen.”

Bruce recovered first. “You were just saying last week you wanted a proton infuser."

“This is better.” Tony sauntered into the kitchen, giving you a wide smirk all the while. The glare you leveled at him did nothing at all. “Especially since I notice _one_ of you is still wearing the same clothes I saw them in _yesterday_.”

You and Bruce blushed in tandem. Too angry to speak, you didn’t bother to correct Tony. Bruce, it appeared, was too mortified to try.

“Of course, the other one is in _Pepper’s_ clothes," Tony went on, "and _that_ really confuses me. Why did I not get invited if it was orgy night?”

“ _Tony_.”

“ _Bruce_.”

Bruce shot a look over at you that you could hardly meet. Mostly you were just embarrassed that Tony thought you were having sex with his best friend. A smaller part was a tiny bit disappointed that said best friend was so embarrassed by the thought of having sex with you. Hypocritical, but there you had it.

“Look,” Bruce started. “We just met up last night–”

“Was it a date?”

Bruce winced gently and looked at his toes. It took him a hard swallow before he could continue. “I–I don’t know.”

The upset part of you got a little louder.

“That’s not the point. [Name] accompanied me home and it was too stormy for her to get back herself," Bruce said. 

“And you’re wearing the same clothes. This is the best day of my entire life.”

“Well, glad you’re so happy,” Bruce grumbled, and set to making his oatmeal.

This, unfortunately, left you to deal with Mr. Stark's scrutiny alone.

“Doesn’t explain why you’re wearing Pepper’s clothes, though," he told you pointedly. 

“I was wet,” you answered shortly and without looking at him. “She’s lending me these until they’re dry.”

“That was nice of her. And you’ll stay until the storm is over?”

“Unless you give me reason not to.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. In fact, be my guest. Today, the aim of the game is entertaining _you_.”

“Tony,” Bruce said in another warning tone.

Tony rolled his eyes. “I don’t mean anything like an orgy. We’ll watch movies. I suppose _that’s_ boring enough for you, Dr. Banner?”

“Only if it keeps you quiet.”

******

“I’m so sorry Tony roped you into this,” Pepper whispered from her spot next to you on the couch. Not the same one you’d slept on–Oh no. Tony Stark was too classy to show movies in a living room. Instead, your party had moved several stories down to an in-home movie theater.

“It’s not your fault. Please tell me he isn’t going to show us porn,” you said.

“Well, I can’t exactly put it past him.”

The lights above your head flickered.

“Excuse me? Quiet in the peanut gallery!” Tony called.

“Do we have to have an introduction to the movie, Tony?” Bruce asked. “Can’t we just _watch_ it for once?”

“You, my friend,” Tony said as he settled himself down on Pepper’s other side, “are in a terrific mood. I suppose to pacify you, I’ll just let the film speak for itself.”

“Thank god,” said Pepper.

Still, she moved her head to rest it on Tony’s shoulder. Acutely aware that Bruce sat next to you, you tried to fixate on the screen that flickered on the wall in front. Maybe then you could take your mind off how hard the man was trying not to touch you. A number three flared into existence, then counted down to two, one, and zero. A shaky, black and white screen displayed the title: “Captain America.”

You felt Bruce shift beside you just as your pulse kicked up a bit. Of all the moves to show…

“Are these Steve’s old films?” Bruce asked.

Tony grinned, though not at Bruce. “Yeah. Went out and bought them a few weeks ago. Got the whole collection. I can’t wait to see his face.”

“He’s going to know you just got these to make fun of him.”

“And your point would be?”

“Steve is going to kill you.”

“Can we watch something else?” you broke in to ask.

All three of the others sitting on the couch looked your way.

“Are you kidding?” Tony said. “This is a classic.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to watch this.”

Pepper and Bruce exchanged looks of confusion. With an extremely martyr-ish sigh, Tony sat up a bit and said:

“Pause.”

The movie did as it had been commanded. You squirmed as Tony turned his displeased features toward you.

“Okay, spill,” he said.

“Spill what?”

“You’ve clearly got a beef. Is it because I blackmailed you? Because I distinctly remember stopping doing that.”

“My not wanting to watch this movie,” you answered stonily, “has nothing to do with you.”

“Then may we _continue_?”

“No. I don’t want to watch a piece about Captain America.”

“I don’t mind watching something else,” Pepper said, “but is there something wrong with Captain Rogers?”

You glowered at your toes. “He’s an Avenger,” you muttered. Silence fell for a few seconds after this, but not for long enough.

“ _What_?” Tony asked.

“He’s an Avenger,” you said more loudly. “I don’t want to watch his movies.”

“What’s wrong with the Avengers?” Pepper asked. Unlike Tony, she seemed genuinely concerned.

“Yeah,” Tony said. “ _I’m_ an Avenger.”

“And you wonder why I don’t like you.”

“Okay, there’s clearly something I’m not getting here. If you’ll kindly explain what your deal is, maybe I’ll agree to put on something else.”

This time, you looked straight into Tony’s eyes. “The Avengers,” you said slowly and clearly, “killed my grandfather.”

They were quiet a bit longer this time around. Your heart thudded so loudly in your chest that you could barely hear the whirring of the projector. Why had you admitted that? Why? Why _now_? No one was going to believe you. And when Tony spoke, it became clear that he certainly did not.

“Excuse me?” he said. “I don’t think _we_ killed anyone.”

You said nothing and simply continued to stare at the floor beneath your feet. You’d tried so hard to not think about it, especially now that you were becoming a part of these peoples’ lives. But you hadn’t wanted to. And they deserved to know.

“In fact,” Tony continued loudly, “I think we _saved_ lives that day.”

“Tony, let’s not. If she’s uncomfortable, you shouldn’t press her,” Bruce said over your head.

“Sorry, Bruce, but I nearly died that day. I’m not going to let her tell me that I _killed_ someone.”

“People _did_ die.”

“But not because of us!”

“You know what?” You stood up. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it was just collateral. My grandfather is still dead, and you didn’t do anything to save him.”

“Kind of hard to be everywhere at once, you know. If I remember correctly, _I_ was taking a nuclear bomb into space.”

“Tony,” said Pepper.

“No, Pepper, this isn’t about a movie anymore. This is about someone going around thinking we’re some sort of gang of mass murderers. This isn’t okay.”

“If it’s not okay, maybe I should just leave,” you said coldly.

Tony stared at you. “Maybe you should.”

“Then I will.”

And so you did.

******

Stupid Tony Stark. Stupid Avengers. Stupid ever agreeing to get involved with Doctor Bruce Banner. The rain pounded against your shoulders as you sprinted the last section of sidewalk up to your apartment. Damned if you stayed, damned if you went home. Nana was going to be even more pissed off when you dripped all over her carpet.

“[Name]!”

That was odd. You could have sworn you heard someone calling you. Out in the middle of this thunderstorm, though? After what you’d just done? Hardly likely. You kept going. Almost there. Almost there.

“[Name], wait!”

Despite how unlikely it was that someone had followed you, you turned around. There, running toward you and quite as soaked through as you felt, was Bruce. You didn’t know what to feel. Was he there to continue the argument? He stopped right in front of you, panting, and you waited patiently for him to continue.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

That floored you. “About what?” 

“I don’t know,” Bruce answered as he blinked up at the rain. “Everything.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me after every time we have a get together, you know.”

He looked at you. “I know, but…I really can’t…apologize enough, for this one. Tony shouldn’t have said any of that. You have _every right_ to be upset, and I’m so, so sorry you got involved.”

Even with the rain freezing you to the core, you felt a sort of warmth start at your toes. “You came all the way out here like this to say that?”

He nodded. “I guess.”

You stared at him a moment longer, then noticed the sweatpants sticking to your legs. “Shit!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m still wearing Pepper’s clothes! And she’s got mine! Nana is going to _kill_ me!”

“I can bring them to your store,” Bruce said, but he looked unsure. “I mean–if you–if you want to ever speak to me again.”

You slowly removed your gaze from Pepper's pants to stare at Bruce in confusion. “Why wouldn’t I ever want to speak to you again?”

“Everything with the Avengers–”

“Just because you're friends with one doesn’t mean I hate you,” you said with your eyes wide.

Bruce looked around him once and then:

“Wait, what?”

“You’ve already explained Tony gave you a place to stay. I can’t begrudge you that. _I_ don’t want to hang out with the guy, but without him I…I still want to see you.”

Bruce’s mouth worked opened and closed.

You chuckled, then leaned in to kiss him gently on the cheek. “Thanks, Bruce. You’re really sweet. Get back quick, before you catch cold.”

Then you darted into the building before you could lose your nerve.


	15. Ghosts of the Past

You ducked into the relative warmth and dryness of the apartment building’s foyer. Shivers wracked your body from your feet to your shoulders. It didn’t take long to figure out that they _weren’t_ from the cold.

“What am I _doing_?” you whispered.

What with the weather, all the other tenants seemed to be huddled cozily in their places. It didn’t matter, then, when you slid down the wall to sit on the wet, grimy floor and press your hand into your face. Your mind briefly flashed over the events of the past twenty-four hours. Going out with a friend had been nice. Seeing him get so upset had been not so nice, not to mention strange. Then he kissed you? Yeah, that definitely happened. Was that the problem here? Your first real kiss in however many years and now all this? Maybe it was just that you had forgotten how to connect–and, somehow, you connected with Bruce-maybe not monetarily, definitely not intellectually-but emotionally.

“He’s my friend,” you said into the arms crossed in front of your face. “That’s all.”

Maybe getting yelled at would help settle your nerves. At least it was a situation you could understand. Shaking your head rapidly, as if you could somehow dislodge Bruce from its insides, you stood and clambered up the stairs.

Did Bruce get home all right? The thought came like a hammer to your head. Most guys wouldn’t follow you out in the rain to apologize for a friend's poor behavior. Your hand wrapped around the knob to your apartment. Most guys wouldn’t want to see you after the way _you'd_ acted either. You opened the door and stepped inside. For the most part, friends didn’t kiss friends.

“[Name]!”

Nana’s cry from the kitchen caused any thoughts of Bruce to flee south for the winter. You combed back the hair plastered to your face, but there was nothing much you could do otherwise to help your appearance. You took one deep breath before you wandered down the softly lit hallway toward where her voice had issued from.

“[Name],” she said again as you came into view. Nana sat at the tiny dinner table, but her eyes were most definitely on you.

You tried to grin, though not much feeling went into the effort.

“But you’re all wet! Where have you been?”

“I told you, Nana. I was over at Mr. Stark’s. Then I decided I better get home, so I walked here.”

“If you were at Mr. Stark’s, why didn’t you get someone to drive you home?”

You only shrugged in answer. Nana wouldn’t appreciate what you had to say.

Seeming to sense your reluctance at speaking, she gestured to the seat next to her. “Never mind. I’ll get you a hot drink. Then we’ll talk.”

Even the heater wasn’t helping warm you now. You walked stiffly over to the table just as Nana rolled away and toward the cabinet.

“Let me get that, Doris,” said an unexpected voice. When you looked up, you found that it belonged to Mr. Banner. He caught your eye and winked just as Nana answered:

“No, Bill. You’re my guest. Besides that, she’s _my_ granddaughter. Hot cocoa, [Name]?”

“Uh…sure. Thanks,” you murmured.

You heard one of the lower cabinets–relegated to items Nana might need while you were away–open and close. All the while, you stared at Mr. Banner. Questions raced through your head, and a few apologizes sluggishly joined them. It was impossible to voice any with your grandmother in the same room.

After five minutes or so, she sat a steaming blue mug in front of you and wheeled back into her place. No one said anything–apparently you were supposed to drink before this lecture started. To move things along, you took a large gulp of cocoa , setting the mug back down with a wince afterward. You could practically feel the blisters blooming in your throat.

“Better?” asked Nana.

“Yeah,” you wheezed. “Thanks, Nana.”

“Doris, I don’t mean to rush you, but I should probably be headed home soon,” said Mr. Banner.

“Yes, yes. It’s about time we begin. I’m sorry. I thought [Name] would be home earlier,” Nana said.

“Sorry," you put in.

Mr. Banner waved away your apology, then motioned for your grandmother to continue. She looked back at you, paused for a moment, and sighed as she settled her interlaced hands onto the table.

“Bill has been telling me,” she said, “that it is difficult for you to run the store along with everything else.”

_Not_ the direction you expected. You looked at Mr. Banner, who did nothing to guide you toward the right subject matter.

Nana took another deep breath before she continued, “I _thought_ limiting the store to three open days a week would be suitable, but we aren’t pulling in enough money. If it’s this hard for you to handle it with three days, I don’t see how you could manage five.”

Your fingers gripped the chair underneath you.

“I would, however, _like_ to open the store five days.”

“But–”

She held up a hand; silence fell.

“To do so, I have agreed to allow you two helpers.”

A weight so usual that you had mostly forgotten it lifted from your shoulders. Your mouth fell open as you looked back and forth between Mr. Banner and Nana.

“These will be people of my own choosing, of course. You will still be in charge, but I will be asking them for regular updates on quality.”

_There_ was the catch. Nana wasn’t allowing you extra help–just getting some spies inside. Given how poorly adept at you were at managing, you suspected this would not go well. Trying to keep all emotion out of your voice, you looked at the table and asked:

“Is Mr. Banner helping?”

“Heavens no! Bill has better things to do than doing your job _for_ you, [Name]. You’ll be inheriting the Stand when I die. You’ll need to learn it run it properly!”

Not, you noted, by having your own interviews.

“So long as she makes sure to give out the correct packages, she should be fine," Mr Banner said. "You know where to find me if you need help, Doris.”

“Of course, Bill. Thank you ever so much for helping with the brainstorming.”

“Any time.” He vacated his chair and walked over to the hallway. A thick, brown coat hung on the peg on the wall. Mr. Banner took it and started to pull it on. “I am going to go home now. Thanks for the hospitality, Doris.”

“Stay safe, Bill.”

“I will.”

Before Nana could suggest _you_ show your hospitality and walk Mr. Banner out, you made to do so. You had questions for him anyway. If he thought you couldn’t handle ordering _him_ around, how could you order around Nana’s friends? He remained quiet until he stepped outside.

“You’ll be fine, [Name],” he said quietly.

“I seriously doubt that.”

“No, you will. I’ll be right there to help out.”

“But Nana just said–”

“We’ve done some talking about who she’ll hire. I’m fairly certain I can intimidate any of her candidates into not mentioning my presence. You can’t do it _without_ me, but I’m reasonably sure you can do it _with_.”

The rain outside pattered onto the sidewalk, a noise that almost obscured your next question: “Why are you doing all this?”

“Like I said, I knew your grandfather. Good man. Hell if I’m going to let his wife and granddaughter get evicted or starve when I can help.”

“Thanks,” you said after a momentary pause. “And thanks for staying over last night.”

This made Mr. Banner grin. “Gotta get your kicks while you’re young enough to get them.”

You blanched. “What?”

A cackle was the last you heard before Mr. Banner turned up his collar and rushed away. You watched until he disappeared, then turned back into your home. The door closed slowly behind you. It took only a moment to lock, but that was enough time for your heart to sink.

“[Name]? Your cocoa is getting cold.”

“Coming, Nana.”

Your feet dragged against the shaggy carpeting, but soon you arrived back in the kitchen. Nana had her head turned toward the window over the sink. The rain was coming down so hard that nothing could be seen through the panes except for a vague city of blue-gray blurs.

“Nana?”

“Yes, [Name]?”

“I’m sorry for staying out so late last night. I promise, I had every intention of being home before midnight.”

She nodded before she looked at you. “I just worry, you know.”

“About what?”

Her gaze settled on you, but you couldn’t gather any emotion from Nana’s eyes. “I worry about a lot of things,” she answered. “I worry what will happen if we lose the store, or if we lose this apartment. I understand this is a lot of pressure for you, but I am under pressure as well. We’re the only two responsible for each other now, and I can hardly move.”

“Mr. Banner wants to help us. Maybe we could–”

“I will _not_ have us be a charity case!” Nana snapped. A moment later, she heaved a sigh. “Bill is very helpful. This shop is _mine_ , though. I don’t want–I don’t want anyone else to be the one in control of it. Have you ever had something, [Name], something entirely yours? Only to have it ripped away?”

_My life,_ you wanted to tell her, but it didn’t seem the time. You didn’t answer and Nana continued:

“Your grandfather helped me put it together. It was my dream. I can’t let his gift die now that he’s gone.” Her eyes slid shut.

You felt some of your pent-up anger drain away as you observed her. Was this really the same woman that had sat at this table lecturing you ten years ago? The frailness of her bones, the thinness of her hair, the veins that stood out against her skin all seemed to say ‘no.’

“I apologize for pressuring you so much, [Name],” she said after more time had passed.

“Nana…”

“This store is the only hope for both of us. You will inherit it after I die. That is my gift to you. I want you to be able to support yourself when I’m gone.”

A hard lump formed in your chest. You did not want the store, but at this point, what choice did you have? There were no other prospects, no other open doors. Nana was just looking out for you. Maybe she had talked herself out, because the next ten minutes or so, you spent listening to the storm outside and drinking your now icy beverage.

“[Name], are you back in that gang?”

You didn’t register the return of conversation immediately. Even after that, it took a few minutes to get over your shock of the question. Your eyes widened, then closed as you turned your head away from your grandmother. She took your silence as an admission.

“We can’t afford to have people like that in our lives," she said. "I thought you knew that.”

Refusing to look her in the eye would only hurt your prospects. You tried to force a steely glint in your own as you looked back at her.

“When Officer Kravoski came by last night, I hardly dared to believe him. You’ve been being so good. But with a friend that attacks police officers? I can’t fathom any other explanation.”

“I’m not in a gang, Nana,” you said at last. “I was never _in_ a gang.”

Whatever your grandmother thought as she regarded you, it took her a few minutes to process. Then she nodded and pressed her gnarled hands to her heart. “Your grandfather always said that, too.”

“Papa was a smart man. I always liked him.”

A few tears filled Nana’s eyes. Then, hesitantly, as if not to startle you, she reached one hand toward you and took your own. Her palm trembled against yours, forcing any response you had in mind out of your head.

“I miss him,” Nana said. “He always understood you. And me.”

You could only nod. She sniffled, let go of your hand, and wheeled toward the living room before you realized the moment was over. “Well,” said Nana with her back turned toward you. “You had a long night. You should probably try to get some sleep.”

“Actually, I was going to head to the store for a bit. Get things set up for Monday, make sure we’re fully stocked.”

“You can do that tomorrow. Please get some rest, [Name]. For your health. After all, neither of us can properly live with you out of commission.”

This did not get you out of your chair immediately. Nana disappeared. Several minutes later, you heard the television switch on. Tiny voices, so quiet you couldn’t understand what they were saying, floated down the hall and into the little kitchen. You didn’t know how much time passed before you stood up, set your cup in the sink, and ducked into your room.

No lamps were on to greet you. As soon as the wooden door closed, you were plunged into darkness. You found your bed and stretched out on it without bothering to take off Pepper’s clothes. They smelled different–like Stark Tower and the weather and Pepper’s perfume. The scent seemed odd, and odder still as your eyes adjusted to the dark. Your bedroom remained exactly as you had left it those many years ago-not that you’d ever bothered to personalize it much to begin with. A corkboard on one wall still held only reminders for appointments you never went to. A few framed photographs of family sat dusty on your dresser. A stack of unreturned school books remained piled on a doll-sized chair shoved into a corner.

Maybe you could close your eyes and stop thinking. You tried, but to no avail. Now you could see, feel, touch, hear everything else: the phone on its cord ringing; your fingers picking it up, assuming it was only work; the attorney from New York saying Frank [L Name] was dead, his wife hospitalized, you were the last of kin, how soon could you catch a flight here?

You rolled over onto your side, toward the white plaster wall next to your bed. Now your grandfather’s voice drifted into your ear, almost a whisper as it came forward in time from your teenage years. Why were you staying in here? Did you want dinner? He’d take you to your favorite place. Just talk. Please talk. _Please_ come out of your room.

Sleep clearly was not winding your way. You sat up and looked around. Your eyes fell upon your dresser. Quickly and silently, you got up, walked over, and pulled open the bottom drawer. It was stuffed, not with anything useful, but all the papers and odds and ends you’d managed to scrabble together before leaving Washington. Your fingers clawed through the papers and ticket stubs and class schedules and tax return notes until there–at the very back–you found a Ziploc bag.

You cradled the package in your arms and walked back to your bed, ignoring the mess left on the floor from your excavation. The package fell noiselessly onto your comforter, then you sat down next to it and just looked.

How long you sat there, talking yourself into opening the bag, you didn’t know. When you did, you moved as slow as you could. You reached inside and felt around until you found the most crumpled piece of paper sitting at the bottom. After another minute or so of biting your lip, you decided it was best to get it over with. The paper was released and you smoothed it against your lap.

_Dear [Name]_ , the letter read:

_I suppose it might surprise you that I have found you out–that I am even bothering to send you a letter. Perhaps I simply hope it does. That’s why I didn’t put a return address on the envelope. I didn’t want you to burn this before you read it. However, you might burn it as soon as you recognize my handwriting. If you are thinking about doing this, [Name], I ask that you will not._

_You will find, enclosed in this letter, several hundred dollars. I know it’s not much. I also know that you will not want to take it. Please do, [Name]. Allow an old man to take care of his son’s only daughter. Your grandmother will not miss this much, and if I could not take care of you in my own home, I would like the chance to do it while you are far away._

_I am not coming to get you. It makes me sad, knowing how relieved this will make you. But I will respect your wishes. You were not happy here, [Name]. One thousand wishes will not make it so. I have also told the police to stop looking for you. You are old enough now to be on your own, and I never for one minute believed you cut school to be a part of a gang._

_Your grandmother will be harder to convince. Rest easy knowing that I am the only one that has your new address. I got it from your friend’s mother. Lucky for the two of us, she called while Nana was out in her store._

_You never wanted that to be your life, [Name]. I pray that you will take this opportunity to do something else–something_ you _want to do. I also pray that you will learn to connect. When your parents died, a bit of you died, too. Your grandmother did not help by pushing. Still, if you find someone–anyone–that can accept your feelings as they are, please open up to them before you explode._

_I love you, [Name]. I am sure your grandmother does, too, even if it’s hard to tell. It is difficult to lose people, even more difficult to lose the people right in front of you._

_Stay safe. I will send more money when I am able._

_Love,_

_Papa_

By the time you reached the end, you could barely see through the tears. Your grandfather’s thick, untidy scrawl blurred beneath you. A funny bumping drummed in your throat. Soon after noticing, you realized you were trying to cry.

You leaned back onto your bed. The letter fell to your chest where you kept it as you drew your knees up to your chin. Hot tears began to course down your cheeks.

“I love you, too, Papa,” you whispered brokenly, so quiet you could be sure that Nana wouldn’t overhear. “And I’m so sorry that I never wrote you back."

And for the first time, in how long you could not say, you allowed yourself to hiccup and sob until sleep at last overtook you.

******

Hours later, after he found Bruce and talked to Pepper and got his head back on straight, Tony walked into his personal lab. It had been awhile–probably since the attack–since he’d worked on anything down there. A few cars lay in various states of unmaking. A box of his dad’s old tapes sat next to a projector. Neither of those was why Tony was there that evening.

“Turn the lights on,” he called as he walked inside. “Snap, snap! Daddy has some research to do.”

The ceiling responded by filling the room with a yellow-gold glow. As Tony settled into a large chair near the back of the room, the holo-screens, too, hummed to life. He cracked his fingers, sat them on the keys, then realized how silent the room was.

“JARVIS?”

“Hmm?” came the groggy, somewhat electronic voice of his butler. “Did you say something, sir?”

“Yeah, said I’ve got some research to do. Normally you snark at me before I even have a chance to talk.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I must be feeling under the weather.”

“Is that why you didn’t mention we had a guest last night?”

“I suppose so. I’m not sure. I’ve run several self-diagnostics, but everything comes up clear.”

Tony frowned. “That’s no good. I’ll put together a program tomorrow. You think you can hold out until then?”

“I believe, so, sir. There doesn’t seem to be anything much the problem.”

“Okay, then we’ll go ahead with that plan. Now, could you run an engine search for one [F Name] [L Name]? I need to pull some history on her.”

“Stalking another lingerie model, sir?”

If JARVIS were tangible, Tony would have shot him a cutting look. As it was, he had to settle for making a face at the ceiling. “For your information, I have zero interest in this woman. And I’d say the feeling is mutual, which is why I am looking this up.”

Files began to pop up on the screen.

“You’re that bothered that she doesn’t want to sleep with you, sir?” JARVIS asked.

" _No._ I’m bothered by the fact that she thinks the Avengers killed her grandfather.”

“Plenty of others have made such claims.”

“Yes, but not like _this_. Most people seem to grasp that more aliens would have shown up to the slaughter had we not been there.” Tony ducked his head and rubbed his thumbs up and down his head. “And she was so insistent that _we_ didn’t save him. Makes me think she doesn’t really think the whole incident was accidental.”

“I’ve pulled up most of the database on Miss [L Name]. Will that be all, sir?”

“No, hold on.”

Tony touched the screen and began to deposit the unnecessary items in the recycling bin. Spelling bee champion in elementary school? Probably not too important. Record of police interest because of suspected gang interaction? Interesting, but not really all that relevant. Wait. Maybe…

“Yes, here we go,” Tony muttered as he opened the file. “Police are on the lookout for one [F Name] [L Name], suspected of having run out of town after her grandmother called the police on her. [L Name] had apparently been cutting class and disappearing from her Manhattan apartment without word for several weeks.”

“Is this what you were looking for?” JARVIS asked, in a tone that indicated curiosity.

“No, but I _am_ interested in her grandparents. Right here. Her grandmother, Doris [L Name], claims [L Name] has not been acting right since she moved in with her and her grandfather, Frank [L Name] four months ago. JARVIS, I need the obituary and any records or discussion of death on Frank [L Name].”

“What for, sir?” New windows started to pop up on the screen in front of Tony.

“Something just doesn’t add up here.” As soon as he spotted the obituary, Tony clicked. The face of an older gentleman in a shirt that looked far too similar to Steve’s standard dress for comfort appeared next to a column of text. Tony mouthed the details until he hit what he was looking for: “Mr. [L Name] is suspected to have died during the alien attack on the city last week.”

That still didn’t give him any answers, though. An alien could have stabbed him, for all Tony knew. Then he saw it: A video recording with the title ‘Local Woman Claims Avenger Involvement in Husband’s Death, Her Paralysis.”

He wasn’t sure why, but Tony felt his pulse pick up. It wasn’t as if he and the others weren’t aware people died that they couldn’t save. There’d even been a few court orders because of it. So why was this one piece of information making him feel a burning coal of guilt in his stomach?

“We were just standing there,” the elderly woman on the screen was saying. “Visiting that banking office, of course. It’s the one that helped me start our grocery store, the Stand. We needed to ask about getting a loan to expand. Then the aliens started attacking, and everyone went to look out the window.”

“Sounds familiar,” said Tony as he leaned his cheek into his palm.

“Then, it came out of nowhere. This giant green blur! It was roaring something terrible and coming right our way. We thought it was another alien!”

He sat up straight, eyes wide.

“And what happened next?” asked the newswoman.

“Well, the thing didn’t seem to care where it was going. There were tables flying everywhere! Frank pushed me out of the way when it came near–it wasn't enough. My husband took the brunt of the object–hit his head, they say, against the wall. But I got crushed. And now, I’m like this.”

“And yet the government says you don’t have a claim against them.”

Your grandmother nodded and her eyes drifted past the camera. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to me–to us–to the store. They’re saying he’s a hero. Well, I’ll tell you, he’s no hero of–”

“Mute,” Tony said quietly. He only saw a moment or two afterward, with the woman starting to tear up, mouthing what he could only assume were more negative projections on Bruce’s behalf.

“Sir?” asked JARVIS as Tony’s forehead pressed gently into the table.

“What have I gotten us into?” was all that Tony said in response.


	16. Baby Steps

Bruce did not show up at the Stand that Monday–or the day after that or the day after that. The paper bag carrying Pepper’s cleaned sweats traveled with you to work and back home those first few times. Eventually the waiting and the disappointment became too much, forcing you to shove the sake into a cubby underneath the cash register. At least you could stop thinking about it when you went home. A week past after that. Clearly drastic measures would need to be taken if you wanted your own things back. 

Not, if you were honest with yourself, that you really cared about your clothes. Like everything you owned from your young adult days, they were worn and well-past fashion don’t. Pepper probably could afford to find herself something new to wear, too. The real reason for your nerves, was something you were trying not to think about too hard about.

That did not change the fact two Saturday mornings later found you standing awkwardly in front of Stark Tower, a sore thumb sticking out from a crowd of tourists come to see what was quickly becoming a national monument.

“Excuse me. I need _in_ the building, please,” you murmured as you tried to keep your eyes on the path despite the flash bulbs going off.

Unfortunately, everyone else had the same goal. With the construction finished, it seemed every single person in the country wanted a glimpse of the new Avengers HQ.

“You think any of them are here?” you heard not a few people ask.

“I heard he’s inviting the entire team!” was always the joyous response.

This news did nothing to help _your_ mood. Not that it mattered, you thought as you took a deep breath and tried to steady yourself in the stream of people. You weren’t ever going to meet the rest of them. Right before this turn of thought took you down a path you wanted to avoid, someone bumped into you. Your eyes, closed to help you ignore the crowd, popped open. You barely had time to register the familiar face before Janie broke into a wide grin.

“Oh, hello! Back again, are you?” she asked.

“Yeah, along with the rest of the state,” you answered with a roving glance across the stuffed entrance. When your eyes landed on Janie again, she was rolling hers.

“I know. It’s been _awful_. I thought I signed up for a regular secretarial gig, but so far it’s been nothing but construction and tourists. Guess I should have known, considering the higher-ups.”

A sort of hollow laugh filled your response.

Janie shrugged as she tried to shove past a family wearing Iron Man masks. “I’ve been told there will be some police here tomorrow, at least to help with the maximum occupancy rule. Thank god.”

Since Janie was going to all the trouble of making a path, you followed her. After several minutes of arduous struggle, she popped out from between two red-haired women clutching autographed photos of Tony. She collapsed into her chair at once. You stood awkwardly next to the desk, wondering in the pause of conversation how exactly to continue.

“So,” she said at last, with another bright smile, “What can I help you with today?”

“Oh, I…” You trailed away as a shot of nerves coursed up your arms.

“Another package to deliver?”

Suddenly you remembered the paper bag clutched to your chest. “Yes!” you blurted. “Yes.”

Janie reached for the phone. “I’ll call Miss Potts and let her know you’re here.”

“Wait!”

With a frown, Janie did so. For a moment, your pulse took all your attention. How to ask for Bruce? They _were_ Pepper’s clothes. Still, what if she didn’t want to see you after that tantrum of yours? What if _he_ didn’t want to see you after that tantrum of yours? Maybe you shouldn’t have bothered coming. No one knew Bruce worked here either. Could you even _ask_ Janie to call him for you?

Apparently you were taking a little too long deliberating, because she had to prompt you with a soft, “Yes?”

You shook your head. “That would be great. Um, could you tell her the package is for a mutual friend?”

“Sure thing.”

“I’m…going to go wait outside, if that’s okay. It’s a little full in here. It’ll be easier to find me.”

“I’ll let her know.”

You nodded and added an uncomfortable “thanks” before darting back outside as quickly as you could.

The sidewalk was still pretty crowded. People kept posing, pointing in the air even though there wasn’t any suit of armor to be seen, and generally making as much noise as possible. It _was_ a little emptier at least. That would make it easier for Bruce, right? If he even came to see you. God, he was probably avoiding you on purpose. Your hands shook a little as you settled down onto the wide, cement steps in as a vacant a space as you could find. After all, you’d basically acted like a baby every single time you saw him. How attractive could that be to a guy like him?

The noise around you faded into something of a dull roar. You leaned your cheeks onto your fists and glowered down at the buses chugging past the building. Bruce hadn’t _acted_ upset with you, though. He’d let you feel what you wanted to feel. Maybe he was tired of it. Of course he was. Thirty-year-old women were supposed to act with a little more decorum. That kiss didn’t mean anything to him. He was just drunk. He himself had said it’d been awhile since he’d got out. Probably he just hadn’t kissed someone in years. Just because it was the same for you didn’t mean anything. If you were smart, you’d just get up and take one of those buses home. You had checkbooks to balance anyway.

A hand on your shoulder made you jump as a gasp slip from your mouth.

"Sorry,” Bruce said with his hands held palms toward you. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“N-No. I–I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Bruce looked a little confused as you got hastily to your feet. “Pepper said you were looking for me.”

“I was! I just didn’t think you’d actually show up.”

“I seriously considered it,” he admitted.

You pressed your lips together so they wouldn’t betray the slight sinking of your heart.

A short pause preceded his question: “Why are you here?”

“Pepper’s clothes. You,” you scuffed your feet against the ground, “never came to pick them up.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re probably busy with all your science stuff.”

“I guess.”

You frowned at the cement when the conversation ground to a halt. No matter what you mentally told yourself to convince yourself to actually say what you came to say, you couldn’t manage it. Not after Bruce was so clearly unhappy to see you.

“Here!” You thrust the bag of clothing at him.

Bruce did not take it. “I don’t have your things.”

“That’s okay.” Your eyes remained glued to a window pane high above his head. “Just have Pepper mail them to me. Or not. I mean, I can just get another pair some time.”

For a moment, Bruce regarded you in that now-familiar way of his. Then he took the package and nodded. “I’ll let her know. Thanks for bringing this all the way over here.”

“No problem.” Your throat was getting a little too tight for words. A smile forced your lips up painfully. “Sorry I made you get out here in this mess.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll see you later.”

“Sure.”

The pair of you stood about a foot apart, not saying anything, not even really looking at each other. Bruce gave a nervous shrug and a twitch of his head, then began to make his way back into the building.

“Wait!”

He turned, perhaps a little reluctantly. His eyes darted toward your hands, and you realized you had grabbed his wrist to prevent him from going further. You dropped it as if electrocuted. No words came from him; meanwhile, your lips writhed as you tried to form some of your own. How many minutes passed, you didn’t know. When you did speak, you hardly understood the words:

“Did that kiss mean anything to you?”

His tongue snaked out of his lips to wet them before he said, “What?”

You screwed your eyes shut and took a deep breath. More slowly, you repeated, “Did that kiss mean anything to you?”

Bruce might have colored a bit. You were trying very hard not to look at him, though, so that might have just been your imagination. Disappointment might have been a close friend to you, but you didn’t want it bursting in now. Nearly as much time passed before he spoke again as he had when this whole affair had started:

“What?”

“That kiss, at the bar. Did it mean something to you?”

“Why are you asking?”

_Connect._ Papa had said to connect. You willed yourself to look into Bruce’s eyes when you spoke up. “Because it might have meant something to me.”

“You’re going to have to explain.”

“Look, I–I like you. And I know that sounds stupid, but when you didn’t show up at the store like you told me you would, I thought maybe…maybe you’d decided you didn’t want to see me ever again. And that would break my heart.”

You hazarded another look up at Bruce. If you weren’t putting so much feeling into this meeting, his look of incredulity might have made you laugh. His eyes were wide and his mouth was moving almost like a fish's.

“Of course, that might totally be the case," you said awkwardly, "and if it is, I’ll leave you alone.”

His mouth stopped popping open and shut. Now Bruce was the one looking at the ground. “I’m not entirely sure,” he said slowly, “what’s going on here.”

You blew out a long breath and then pressed a hand to your forehead. “Okay, okay. Let me try again. Bruce, I know we didn’t start this relationship out on the right foot, but I would really, _really_ appreciate it if you didn’t avoid me like the plague. Maybe we could get to know each other a little better.”

Bruce looked up. The tiny smile on his face soothed your nerves a little. “Are you asking me out?”

It wasn’t enough to make you stop panicking, though. You answered, completely seriously, “I am asking you out.”

“You’re kidding, right? Not a single one of our dates has ended well.”

“The coffee one kind of did!” 

He lifted his eyebrows.

“Okay, it didn’t start out great, but I felt better afterward. You make me feel better. Like–you’re the only person that doesn’t mind when I get angry. It kind of feels like you like it, really. I used to feel so numb, and then you showed up and I feel angry and sad.”

It was quite clear from Bruce’s expression that this babbling was making you appear no saner in his eyes.

You stamped a foot and tugged once at your hair. “And that makes me _happy_. I _like_ feeling.”

“I thought you said you weren’t interested in having a relationship,” Bruce said. He looked–not confused. More as if he just wanted to make absolutely sure he didn’t need to take you to the mental institution. 

“I said that because I didn’t want anything to get me stuck in Manhattan. When we went on that date, I was still nursing this crazy notion that something might happen and I might get to go home. This _is_ home now. It’s pretty clear I’m not going anywhere.”

With another bob of his head, Bruce looked at the sky. He looked back down at you, though, and took a step nearer. “What if _I_ have to go somewhere?”

“Then I want to get to know you until then.”

He looked around at the tourists milling about. “It’s not exactly an advisable situation.”

It seemed that Bruce was starting to crack. You allowed one corner of your lip to quirk up. “Please? I promise, if this one ends in me storming out, you can be completely done with me.”

At last, he smiled. “Well, you were kind of right earlier. It’s nice to see someone react to things like that.”

“What, anger?”

“Yes. I don’t have a lot of angry friends.”

“Yeah, Mr. Stark seems to really enjoy his life.”

Maybe it was the obvious effort you put into not whining about his best friend. Maybe it was the fact that you’d never been more honest with a person in your entire life. Maybe it was just that Bruce was as desperate for rational company as you were. All you knew was that he licked his lips, and made to sit down on the steps next to you. He patted the spot beside him.

“So, a date," he said.

“Right now?”

“It’s as good a time as any.”

“You sure you don’t want to go somewhere?”

“Let’s just sit here and talk.”

Again, you mashed your lips together. But this time, the smile was inevitable. You settled by Bruce, grinning like an idiot.

“How was your week?" you asked. "What have you been up to?”

“Just checking up on JARVIS.”

“Writing a computer code?”

“That’s more Tony’s area of expertise," he said, "how’s the store?”

“Nana has given me a couple of helpers.”

“Any good?”

“They’re two teenagers that missed applying for college.”

“No, then?”

“They’re driving Mr. Banner crazy.”

It might not have been perfect. The photographers kept stepping on you. Bruce kept looking around as if he half-expected someone to jump at him. Tony, on the other hand, stayed inside while the two of you chatted-and for the first time since running to Washington you felt, maybe faintly but definitely still there, as if something in your life might be changing for the better.


	17. Just Beneath the Surface

If Tony expected no reaction from Bruce after your flight from the tower, he was to find himself for once thoroughly surprised. Bruce hardly knew you; each and every "date" you two had been on had ended in abrupt disaster. Once Tony found out how Doris [L Name] became a widow, he really couldn’t rationalize forcing the relationship anymore. He did the unthinkable: Tony Stark _gave up_. 

But far from not reacting, Bruce seemed _happy_. Not over the moon, obnoxious happy, but happy in a strange, quiet Bruce way. Tony caught him smiling when taking notes in the laboratory more than once–and even being slightly more willing to spend time outside of his room. Could he really be that thrilled to have [Name] out of his life?

“Of course not.”

Tony looked up and across the living room to see Pepper gazing at him from her desk.

“Did I say that out loud?” he asked after a brief pause. 

Her eyes flicked back down to whatever she was doing, then she pressed her lips together and nodded. “I’m afraid so. Why would you think Bruce was excited to see [Name] gone?”

“Because he’s _happy_.”

Pepper’s lips twisted into a half-smile; her fingers contracted slightly around the stack of papers she held. “And you object to this?”

Tony bit his lip and ran a hand across his hair. He had decided not to mention to anyone what he had found out regarding the Hulk. All revealing that news would do was make Bruce sad, and there didn’t seem to be much point with you thoroughly out of their lives. With Pepper looking so close to laughing now, Tony had to wonder if what Rhodey called his "emotional immaturity" had caused him to make the wrong judgement call on how any of them would feel. 

“What’s so funny?” he asked. 

“Bruce and [Name] have been seeing quite a lot of each other lately, you know.”

“I–What? When?”

Pepper shrugged. Tony could see her attention turning back to her work, so he took a few steps closer. This did the trick of catching her eye and bringing her back to the present situation. 

“Mostly during her lunch breaks, sometimes evenings on the weekend,” she replied.

“I haven’t seen her around.”

“And that’s surprising, given how you treat her?”

“Hey, _she_ started that last fight. Hating the Avengers! When has Steve _ever_ –” His throat closed around the words, making it impossible for Tony to continue. Because saying that reminded him of _why_ you hated the Avengers–and Bruce had no idea. “When are they going out next?”

Clearly sensing the change in tone the conversation had taken, Pepper threw Tony a look with wide, concerned eyes and a gently furrowed brow. “I think he should be leaving around now. Why–”

Tony didn’t stick around to hear the end of Pepper’s question. He rushed from the room and down the stairs, his footsteps echoing loudly in the mostly empty hallways. Was that the sound of the door to the street opening? His hands braced themselves against the door frame as he burst into the room.

“Bruce!”

The other man stopped with one foot out the door. Distracted by his momentary relief at finding Bruce still in the building, Tony only barely noticed the way Bruce’s eyes widened at seeing Tony there, or his wearing one of Tony’s old jackets. After a moment’s hesitation, Bruce stepped back inside and closed the door, a casual smile playing at his lips.

“Hey, Tony. What’s up?”

Tony slipped into the room, his brain drumming away inside his head. How many times had _this_ occurred? Tony Stark was _never_ at a loss for words. Standing there in the tiny downstairs entryway, he really couldn’t think of anything to say. It occurred to him as he stood there that Bruce had not told _him_ he was still seeing you. No, Bruce had told _Pepper_.

Maybe there was a reason for that.

Tony couldn’t let him bother him. At least, he couldn’t at that very moment. It may have hurt that his best friend didn’t trust him with such information. While Bruce waited, staring, his hands in his pockets, the silence was dragging on and on.

“Where are you going?” Tony asked as casually as he could.

Bruce shrugged a single shoulder and twiddled with one of the little knickknacks Pepper had set on a small table near the door to "brighten the place up." "Oh, just…out.”

Tony rocked forward on his toes. Still nothing? “Anything important?”

Another shrug. “I guess.”

“Really? ‘Cause…I was thinking maybe we could run some more of those tests on JARVIS. He’s still a little under the weather.”

“Tony, you don’t need me for that. I just sit there watching you.”

“I appreciate an audience.”

There was no fooling Bruce. His smile widened, and his eyes crinkled at the edges. “What is this really about?”

_You killed her grandpa!_ Tony wanted to blurt out. Although not strictly true–everyone flipped-flopped on whether or not Bruce and the Hulk were _really_ the same person, and at the very worse the incident was criminally negligent manslaughter anyway–that was how Bruce would see it when he knew. He would declare himself a murderer, maybe even run off again. If he _cared_ about you now, that would only make things worse.

If you found out, you would undoubtedly hurt Bruce. Tony couldn’t see an end result where you swallowed all your venom and wanted to keep things going. At the same time, if he told Bruce now, that would hurt him too. After everything Tony had seen, heard, and read, he could not bear to hurt Bruce himself.

He forced a smile and clapped Bruce once on the back. “Nothing. Glad to see you willingly getting out more. Have fun.”

Bruce looked as if he didn’t quite believe Tony was letting him off so easily. Then he pressed his lips together, nodded once, and opened the door again. “Thanks.”

******

Ten minutes past twelve and the street outside was empty. Well, not empty exactly; the usual crowd moving up and down the pavement remained, occasionally interrupting your distracted thoughts by jangling the bell tied to the door as they sidled inside. The sidewalk was, however, vacant of the only person you wanted to see.

“Miss [L Name]!”

You gave a start and looked wildly around. There, standing right in front of the front desk, was Hailey, a twenty-year-old girl with her elbow-length blonde hair in a messy bun. Her well-painted fingernails flashed color over the advertisements in her hands. Judging by the worried look in her pale blue eyes, she had probably been trying to get your attention for a while.

“Uh…I’m sorry, what did you say?” you asked intelligently.

Hailey moved her head slightly to the left. “Miss [L Name], are you all right?”

Before you could stoutly insist that you were, Mr. Banner cackled. “Don’t mind her, girl,” he called from the back, where he was probably trying to pry more frozen goods off their shelves. “She’s just mooning over that scientist of hers.”

“Scientist? Are we hiring a scientist? Cool!” Another head, this one dark and belonging to eighteen-year-old Preston, poked out from the fruit section. 

“What would we do with a scientist? Honestly, Preston,” you said, now embarrassed enough by the attention to be irritable. 

“We could crossbreed!” he answered while gesturing wildly with a banana. “Just think–Orples! This store would be world famous!”

The rest of the shop workers stared at him. Even ditsy Hailey couldn’t seem to think of a reason to encourage this.

“Just finish stocking,” you said into the silence. “This lull won’t last forever.”

Preston disappeared again, muttering something that distinctly sounded like “unappreciated.”

Hailey placed her fliers down on the counter and sidled closer to you. “So, a scientist. You like them smart, Miss [L Name]?”

“I’m not mooning over anyone,” you said, more to Mr. Banner than Hailey.

The former walked into the main room carrying several frost-covered frozen pizzas and snorted.

“You wouldn’t be, if you were reasonable. _I_ thought his association with Tony Stark would drive you off of him.”

He wandered away before you could think of a reply to fire at him. Hailey, meanwhile, appeared quite eager to avoid more work, as she decided to take it upon herself to continue the conversation with yet another inquiry:

“You’ve met Tony Stark?”

You grunted.

Hailey squealed. “I’m so jealous! You know, I’ve lived here my whole life and never once ran into him.”

“He’s only lived here for a little over a year."

“Still. He’s so handsome, isn’t he?”

“Sure. Why not?” You rolled your eyes.

She did not notice. “Do you think he’s still seeing that Potts woman? Because if I married a _millionaire_ , no way would I have to keep this grocery job!”

You opened your mouth to tell Hailey that you were very sure Tony and Pepper were still in love, but then you spotted something outside the window. There was Bruce, waving sheepishly from outside. “I’m going on my lunch break!” you shouted as you pulled your purse out from beneath the register.

Hailey wrinkled her nose in confusion at the abrupt end to your discussion, but made no move to stop you as you rushed by. Just as you yanked the door open, you turned to yell:

“Preston, if I find out you tried to smoke the cabbage again, I _will_ tell your grandfather!”

Without waiting to hear him grumble in response, you stepped outside and pulled the tinkling door behind you. Bruce stood a few feet away, his usual tiny smile on his face. You grinned and grabbed his hand before setting out down the street.

“So where to today?” he asked without preamble.

You smiled without looking back at him. “It’s Thursday, so we’re having a picnic.”

By picnic, you meant the two of you were going to sit on a bench in a nearby fountain area and eat sandwiches you made in your apartment the night before. Cheap, sure, but that was kind of the point. It was expensive eating out every day, and Nana would have a meltdown if you ate any of the customers’ food. You tugged gently at Bruce’s hand and he barely avoiding tripping after you.

“Come on, I’ve only got forty-five minutes,” you said.

The little courtyard wasn’t too far from work, which was why it had become your weekly habit to go there. It was a little crowded, but considering the time of your lunch hour, not many people stuck around to get in your way. Once there, you settled on a bench, and, after making sure Bruce had followed suit, handed him a saran-wrapped baloney sandwich from your purse.

You took your first bite while watching the various pedestrians mill about around the fountain. Try as you might to focus on a little girl throwing a penny in, you were uncomfortably aware of Bruce’s eyes on you. He liked to watch you, for some reason, and generally with a tiny, disbelieving smile, as though he weren’t quite sure how any one person could be as dumb as you were. Or at least, you thought he did. No matter how quickly you looked back, you never could catch him staring. This time, for instance, he had his eyes glued on his meal.

“So, how has your day been?” you asked, once you had had enough of people watching.

Bruce kept his head down, but his eyes moved up toward you. “Pretty good,” he answered. “Tony caught me heading out here.”

Your free had stiffened around your knee, and you swallowed your mouthful of food a little harder than necessary.

Bruce, on the other hand, continued as though he had not noticed this. “I just told him I was going out, so you don’t have to worry.”

You pounded a fist once against your chest and choked, “Worry about _what_?”

He blinked, looking confused. “About him knowing about the two of us.”

The conversation had to pause while you dug around in your bag again, this time to find a water bottle. You gulped down several lukewarm mouthfuls and at last obtained your usual voice to ask:

“He doesn’t know?”

Bruce shook his head. “I didn’t think you would want me to tell him.”

That threw you. Did you want Tony to know? It wasn’t really that big a deal if he did, but then again, the thought that Tony would _know_ he was right about something involving you was infuriating in its own right. You looked away to answer:

“I never said you couldn’t tell him.”

“I know,” Bruce said, and the lightness of his tone caused you to look back up at him. "It’s easier this way. Now he can’t chaperone our dates.”

“That is an _excellent_ point.”

Bruce smiled again and took a bite of his sandwich. You only half-smiled in return, your eyes already back on the little girl from before. She was peering into the fountain and pointing, perhaps at the coin she had thrown in. Beside her stood an elderly man with cane, nodding and beaming at her. The sight hit your stomach like a physical punch. Hadn’t Papa done the same for you, when you were just a child? Not at the same fountain, obviously, but still.

“Hey, Bruce,” you said, your eyes still on the two. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“What kind of favor?”

He sounded wary, and you wrenched your gaze away to look at him. His brows were pushed together. It didn’t look exactly like Bruce was going to automatically say no, but his obvious concern still put you on your guard.

“You can say no and I won’t be upset,” you hedged.

“What kind of favor?”

You blew a short breath upwards, causing a few loose tendrils of hair and bangs to blow back. With your eyes focused on your forehead as you tried to force the strays back down, you were able to speak more easily:

“I want to go see my grandpa’s grave.” When you turned your attention back to Bruce, he was frowning. Not like he was upset, just…confused. You seemed to have that effect on him frequently. Before Bruce could voice his obvious question, you tried to answer it. “I don’t want to go alone.”

He nodded slowly, as if this was something he understood. “Why do you want to go?”

You shrugged and looked back over toward the fountain. The child and her grandfather were gone. “It’s been coming on for a while now. I never went to see it after he died, and I showed up too late for the funeral. Nana wanted things over with as quickly as possible. Ripping it off like a Band-Aid, she told me.” It dawned on you that you were babbling. You broke off to bite your lip.

Bruce didn’t look away. "You don’t want to go with your grandmother?”

“It would be too difficult to get her there in her wheelchair. Besides,” you ducked your head, “Nana and I don’t really see eye to eye on Papa. I want to thank him for some stuff I’d rather not have her hear.”

“But you’re okay with me hearing them.”

You felt your eyes widen. “Only if you want to!” you hastened to assure him. “I mean, if you want to wander off and look at other graves while we’re there, that’s okay! I just don’t want to go there alone. I’ll probably lose my nerve.”

“How do you plan on getting there?”

To be honest, you hadn’t given it much thought. You’d only toyed with going to visit Papa’s grave thus far. The thought of actually going was a little scary. Not that his vengeful ghost was going to pop out of the grave and curse you, but you didn’t really feel like you _deserved_ to visit. Taking Bruce would make it a little less awful, wouldn’t it? Like introducing your boyfriend to your parents. After all, you couldn’t really introduce Bruce to Nana, who was growing awfully agitated at any plans of yours to leave the apartment for anything other than work.

“A taxi,” you answered.

Bruce nodded vaguely and looked up toward the cloud-strewn sky. “I could ask Tony,” he said, “if we could have Happy to take us.”

“Does that mean you’ll go with me?”

“I’ll go with you.”

“Thank you!” You launched yourself forward to wrap your arms around Bruce’s shoulders.

He stiffened momentarily, then patted you twice on the back.

You extricated yourself as quickly as you could. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right. Shall I ask Tony, then?”

“I guess it couldn’t hurt,” you said, still too elated to feel much frustration at getting help from Tony Stark. “After all, if he decides to come along, that’s just more people. Papa always liked a party.”


	18. There Are Skeletons in More Than Closets

The apartment was still dark when you slid out of your bedroom that Saturday morning. A pair of sensible tennis shoes hung from your fingers. They jostled quietly against each other as you looked first one way down the hall and then down the other.

You felt almost seventeen again, but in reverse. Back in high school, it was always trying to sneak back _in_ to your room and away from the real world. Today it was trying to sneak out. If pressed, you wouldn’t have been able to say exactly why you didn’t want your grandmother knowing about your plans for the day. Something just told you that she couldn't find out if you wanted to avoid a confrontation.

Faintly from the living room came the sounds of the television. Probably _Judge Judy_. There wasn’t a moment in time that some channel wasn’t showing the program. Your chest unwound slightly at the noise. At least that meant Nana wouldn’t be up to see you leave. Your sock-clad feet tiptoed across the floor into the kitchen. Meanwhile, your free hand dug into your purse until your fingers found the note you’d written to explain your absence.

Your heart quivered as you smooth the sheet of paper onto the kitchen table. The note wasn’t _much_ of a lie. After all, it did say that you were going out for the day with a friend and would be back by dinner. Nana could call your cellphone if there was an emergency. No need to tell her _where_ you were going or exactly what relationship status you _had_ with said friend. Which was good, since you didn’t even really know yourself.

It had been three months since you’d shown up at Stark Tower to ask (maybe beg was a better word) if the relationship between you and Bruce could continue. Things had definitely progressed since then–hand holding, occasional kisses (very unlike the one outside the club), and a plethora of lunch break dates–but you still couldn’t pin down where it was going. Sometimes you thought you should ask or maybe flat out _say_ what you thought, but a part of you was convinced he would run off if you tried.

The train of thoughts easily drowned out any sounds of Nana rolling down the hall. Her presence was only announced when she said, quite loudly:

“Where are you going?”

“Ah!” You must have jumped a good foot and a half in the air. Now your heart was really hammering–not just from being startled, but from being discovered as well. A nervous hand flew up to your tied back hair as you tried for a shaky smile. “Nana, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

She did not smile in response. In fact, Nana looked quite serious as she moved into the room. The watery early morning light did nothing to shed clarity on her features. You did not dare to breathe. Instead she slowly wheeled to the table as you looked on. Then she took your note in her shaking hands.

“What is this?” she asked after having read it.

You gave as casual a shrug as you could manage. “Just wanted to let you know where I was going for the day.”

“And you didn’t ask me? Again?”

You could hardly suppress your wince. Though you still thought yourself adult enough to leave without asking permission, you remembered how upset Nana had been on your first date with Bruce about the very same problem.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you,” you explained.

“[Name], who is this friend of yours?”

“He’s–”

“Tell me the truth now. I don’t want any lies.”

You weren’t entirely sure how you could lie your way out of this anyway. With a slow sigh, you sank into one of the kitchen chairs. A faint buzz brushed against your hips. That would be your cellphone: Bruce letting you know he and Happy were waiting outside the building.

“I met a guy,” you answered with an air of admitting something unpleasant, keeping your eyes your task of putting your shoes on instead of your grandmother.

“A guy,” she repeated flatly.

“Yeah, we’ve been going out for a few months now.”

Nana’s eyes widened, so you tried to head her off by adding:

“ _Not_ when I should be working, okay? Just for lunches.”

Her mouth opened.

“ _And_ I haven’t been giving him the store's food, okay?”

That must not have been too offensive, because Nana regarded you quietly for a moment. Your cellphone vibrated again, but you ignored it once more. You couldn’t answer in the middle of this, tensed as you were for a fight you hoped wouldn’t come.

Nana set the note back onto the table. When she spoke, her tone was careful. “And where did you meet this gentleman?”

Your shoulders relaxed. This was going so much better than you planned. Your mistake was allowing the relief to color your words. “Oh, at the store when it first opened back up. He’s a friend of Mr. Stark.”

She froze. For a moment, the skin around her jaws trembled. Then Nana’s eyes locked onto yours.

“ _That_ ’s why you kept running off to spend time at Stark Tower?” she asked.

“Not really," you said. "I mean, at the time I found the entire ordeal pretty awful, but–”

“But I thought you were seeing Mr. Stark!”

“Nana.” You sat up a little straighter to blink at her. “Mr. Stark’s got a girlfriend.”

"Pah! Pepper is a nice enough girl. But she’s not you.” Nana flicked an impatient hand. 

You laughed uncomfortably. “I don’t think I appeal to Mr. Stark, Nana. It’s probably better this way.”

“I let you go!”

The laughter died on your lips.

Nana rolled frantically toward one end of the tiny kitchen. “I let you go because I thought–if he showed interest–we’d have enough money. The store could stay!”

“The store is doing fine, Nana,” you said, now thoroughly bewildered.

She turned swiftly back toward you. “I do not want my store to do ‘fine,’ [Name]. I want it to _excel_.”

You had no answer for that, but by then you were hyper-aware of the fact that Bruce had been sitting outside in a car for nearly fifteen minutes. Would he leave? You prayed that he wouldn’t. After this debacle, you shuddered at the thought of staying at home the rest of the day with your grandmother. While you were thinking about this, Nana seemed to come to a conclusion.

“Well, you’ll simply have to stop seeing this other fellow and make sure Mr. Stark is aware you’re free.”

Your thoughts slammed to a halt on that one. How could you even respond? You couldn't. Without another word, you got to your feet and started to walk out of the kitchen. You only got as far as the door before Nana called out, a slight edge to her voice:

“[Name]? Where are you going?”

You barely turned your head to answer. “Out. On my date.”

“But I just said–”

“I’m not breaking up him because you want The Stand to be famous, Nana.” 

You flung yourself into the hall and toward the door. The skill Nana had picked up in using her wheelchair unfortunately had her quickly in hot pursuit. “

[Name],” she began in a tone of obviously forced patience. “What are you here for?”

“To help you, Nana.”

“And is this helping me?”

“Nana, I am not going to break up with this man because you don’t like me seeing him. He’s been nothing but nice to me.”

“[Name], I have allowed you to live in this apartment, without paying rent, and you don’t do anything for me.”

“I do everything else for you!” you burst out, unable to contain yourself any longer. “Everything! I am not going to give up on the _one thing_ that makes me happy!”

Nana’s lips clenched together; they hardly moved as she asked again, “Then why are you here?”

“Because Papa would have wanted me to be. I owe him.”

“Your grandfather would not–”

“Maybe you don’t understand Papa in the same way I do, Nana! But you know what? Maybe I’ll ask him what he thinks later today, when I visit his grave!”

Before she could protest, before you could be made to feel bad for speaking your mind at last, you wrenched the front door open, threw yourself out, and slammed it with every ounce of force you could muster behind you.

Thankfully it was difficult for Nana to get out on her own. She could manage it, of course, but the elevator was farther down the hall than the stairs and took ages to arrive. You tried to calm yourself in the interim time you had, walking from the apartment to the too-nice car sitting puttering at the curb. You didn’t wait for the driver to open the door as he had when picking you up with Pepper. You did it yourself and felt, upon seeing the inside, a little less angry.

“What, no Mr. Stark?” you asked as you slid in beside Bruce.

He smiled. “No. He didn’t want to seem to come along.”

The car started to move and you tried, once again, to get a hold of your anger. “But he still let you borrow the car?”

“And Happy,” Bruce said with a smile. “It’s really odd, actually. Tony didn’t seem to want to let me go when I asked at first, but when I double-checked this morning, he just told me to have fun.”

“That _is_ strange.”

“He’s been telling me that a lot lately.”

“Aw, does Mommy finally trust her little boy?”

“I try not to understand Tony’s motivations." He shrugged. "Most of the time I don’t like them. So what kept you?”

You leaned your temple against the warm glass. “I’ll tell you later. I just need a few moments. I don’t want to erupt on you.”

His brown eyes met your gaze. “I understand completely .”

******

Papa’s resting site was a small patch of Easter-green grass a little further into New York state. For the first hour or so, you couldn’t think of much to say to the stone at the top or his grave. It wasn’t even weathered yet, but still you couldn’t feel Papa’s presence lingering. Perhaps it was silly to hope you would, but the empty silence rang on and on. All you could think of was that you should have asked Happy if you could stop for flowers before you arrived.

“So did your grandmother find out about this little escapade?”

You almost jumped at Bruce’s voice. Last you checked, he'd been wandering around looking at some of the other graves. It was somewhat disappointing to find that it was his voice instead of Papa’s, but you got over it quickly enough. Better that the dead stay dead. 

When you didn't answer, Bruce hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I can leave again, if you need more privacy. You just looked really sad.”

You heaved a sigh and then lowered yourself onto the ground. From that seated position, you squinted up at Bruce. Now the sun was really shining, but you still couldn’t exactly read his face. Maybe you never would be able to.

“I guess I am. But it’s nice, you know? I sort of thought I’d given up being able to feel things.”

“You liked your grandfather?”

“Yes," you said with a smile.

“More than your grandmother?”

“You’re not supposed to play favorites with family.”

“But if you had to.”

You chewed on the inside of your lip as you nodded slowly. Nana wasn’t around to hear this. The cemetery was empty, and the rather sparse amount of trees and mausoleums would make it easy to spot her coming. Before answering, you pulled your knees to your chest and set your chin onto them.

“Remember when I said I was the only one around to take care of Nana?”

“On our not-first date? Vaguely.”

“Well, the same is true for me. She and Papa adopted me.”

That seemed to catch Bruce off guard a bit. One end of your mouth quirked up. You hadn’t told anyone this story, not a single person that you’d met in Washington. Bruce wouldn’t know that. It must have seemed weird the way you so brazenly brought up the subject.

“When I was almost seventeen," you went on, "my parents died in a car crash.”

Bruce took a breath as if he wanted to speak and then closed his mouth. He looked around himself and slid his hands into his pocket. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. No one should be sorry. The guy that hit them is dead, too. There’s no one left alive to fault.” You looked down at your toes and murmured the same thing you’d murmured to the half-dozen therapists Papa had driven you to in high school. “I don’t blame myself.”

“Why would you–”

“Nana thought I should.” You forced yourself to look back up at Bruce. He didn’t look uncomfortable, which in turn made you comfortable enough to continue, “They were driving to pick me up from band practice. I played the flute. Anyway, we had a late night rehearsal, and I couldn’t drive then either. From what I gather, some guy was talking on a cellphone and Dad wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t even know. Sat outside the school until ten o’ clock with the director before my next door neighbor came by with the news.”

“Did they die instantly?”

You shook your head. “Three days later in the hospital. Nana and Papa came up to be with me. It took maybe a month to settle everything. Then I moved here. Nana didn’t like it very much.”

“Your grandmother didn’t want you living with her?”

You blinked, then laughed. Of course, that would seem bizarre to anyone else, especially with the way you stated it. One hand waved quickly in front of you as you stood up again.

“Not like that. I wasn’t the granddaughter she remembered. She and Papa had just started the store then, too, something Nana had dreamed about since I was really little. That’s expensive, and all of sudden she had a whole extra mouth to feed. I wasn’t exactly a joy to have around either.”

“But you’d just suffered a loss.” He looked incredulous.

Maybe it was wrong of you, but you thought that was nice. You’d forgotten how to properly feel about the situation, but Bruce was feeling it for you.

“They were her family, too. That’s what Nana always told me. When I didn’t want to go to school or help out at the store or go to high school lacrosse games...or when I ran off from my therapy sessions.”

You scuffed a toe against the ground as you looked at Papa’s grave again. Could he hear you now? Even though he was long dead? You wanted him to know that it wasn’t him you’d ran away from. Bruce didn’t say anything, but you didn’t need to talk to him anymore. Without taking your eyes away from the words reading “Frank [L Name],” you went on:

“I was sad. I didn’t blame myself. I still don’t. I had nothing to do with my parents dying. But Nana knew they had been driving to pick me up, and that was her son, and she made sure I knew it. Of course I didn’t want to work in her shop with her talking like that! Of course I didn’t want to go to school for the last few months of high school in a place where I didn’t know anyone. So instead I stayed in my room and stopped talking to everyone.”

“Did you ever–” Bruce cleared his throat.

You tossed your gaze back over toward him and saw pity there–more than pity. Understanding.

“Did you ever think about suicide?” he asked softly.

What an upfront question. Your first instinct was to deny it. Then you remembered Papa. You didn't want to be dishonest with him, so you couldn't be dishonest with Bruce either.

“I thought about it,” you admitted. “I guess I was never brave enough to do more. Instead, I would hold my breath until it hurt. Every single afternoon, alone in my bedroom. It was like reminding myself that even if _I_ wanted to stop, my body didn’t.”

There was a very long, pronounced pause where the only sound came from the wind rustling the flowers leaning against the other tombstones. Your thoughts drifted. Papa must have suspected your feelings because he had tried so hard to get you back into the realm of the living again. It was because of him, his obvious concern, that you were still there.

“I’m sorry,” said Bruce.

You had run out of things to say. Besides, it felt as though you had talked about yourself enough. You stood fully and looked over at Bruce.

“Mm,” you said by way of answer. “Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Ever consider suicide?”

Bruce’s eyes widened.

“I just figured, if you asked, maybe you had some experience.”

Another silence fell. When Bruce spoke again, it was as if he were forcing the words out, as if stones were tied to the confession: “Tried once. Same problem. My body just wouldn’t quit.”

He sounded…interesting. Half-amused, half-bitter. You gave him a quizzical look, but Bruce was staring off past you. Deciding that you did not want to intrude on whatever moment he was having, you bent a little to wipe the dust off the top of Papa’s headstone. When you finished, you grinned up at Bruce, who was now looking back you. You stretched exaggeratedly

“Ahh, that felt good. I haven’t ever told anyone that story. Thanks, Bruce.”

“Not at all.”

You walked over to stand by him. He did not scuttle a few feet away as he usually did.

“So what about you?" you asked. "What’s your family like?”

“I–My mother is dead." He shifted uncomfortably. "To say my father and I didn’t get along would be an understatement.”

You regarded him quietly, for how long you didn’t know. It might have been five minutes. It might have been thirty. “And you tried to commit suicide, but it didn’t work.”

“Yeah.”

“Bruce?” you said. “Hold still.”

You stood on your toes, just enough that you could press your lips to his. The kiss was quiet, and he tasted a little bit like burned sugar. You meant to just take a step back, but Bruce tilted his head slightly and pressed his hands into your back. You moved forward, deepening thee kiss; you could feel his lips moving against yours, surprising strongly for a man that was obviously trying to be very careful.

When you needed to catch your breath, you moved away to do so. You couldn’t stop smiling. Looking up at Bruce again, you found him smiling, too.

“I’m sorry if this sounds really inconsiderate,” you said, “but I’m glad. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in ages. So…I’m glad you exist.”

He shifted again, but the smile didn’t disappear. “Thanks.”

It was about time to go. The sun was showing well past lunch, and you could feel your stomach growling. Another look at Papa’s grave, though, and you were struck suddenly by an idea.

“Could I introduce you to Papa?” you asked.

“Huh?” Bruce blinked, looking startled. “Oh. S-Sure.”

You silently thrust out a hand, only to have Bruce stare it. Your fingers wiggled for a moment, then, after a moment’s hesitation, he took it and allowed you to lead him over.

“Well, then,” you said with a flourish of your free hand. “Bruce Banner, this is my grandfather, Frank [L Name]. Papa, this is my…” You trailed away and looked at Bruce. His eyes stayed on Papa for a moment, and then looked over at you. You gave his hand a gentle squeeze and steeled yourself before finishing, “This is the man I’m in love with, Dr. Bruce Banner.”

If anything you had ever said had startled Bruce, it was nothing compared to this. His eyes grew wide, and he stared and stared and stared some more. It was enough to make you feel very stupid for admitting such a thing, but you would not allow yourself to show it. When you could no longer stand the strain, you took it upon yourself to speak.

“We can leave now,” you said in a stage whisper.

As if rousing himself from sleep, Bruce shook himself. “Oh. Yeah. Sure. Let’s go.”

He didn’t force his hand from your grip as the two of you walked out of the cemetery. Your heart pounded as your thoughts raged angrily in your head. Stupid! Why did you say that? You should have known it was too early to say, should have known it might never happen.

All those reprimands were unneeded. Just as you were about to step back into the car, Bruce spoke:

“[Name]?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you, too.”


	19. It's Never Pretty

Tony had the sandwich halfway to his mouth when Bruce walked into the kitchen. Frowning, Tony placed the sandwich back down as he watched. Maybe he was just imagining things, but it looked like Bruce was actually smiling. Whatever was making him so happy also seemed to distract him enough that he didn’t even notice Tony sitting there until Tony cleared his throat.

Bruce jumped, but his smile grew a little wider once he spotted him. “Oh, hey. Actually eating for once?” 

In response, Tony frowned and took a large bite of food. “I eat,” he answered thickly, “when I’m not busy working.”

“I see.” Bruce ran a hand through his hair, then wandered closer to the table. He interlaced his fingers as he came to stop. “Uh, what do you have there?”

“Peanut butter and banana sandwich. Not exactly a feast, so, no, you can’t have any.”

“I wasn’t going to ask for some.”

Silence fell in the kitchen. Tony simply gazed at Bruce as he chewed on his sandwich. Where Bruce had been all day, Tony didn’t really know. He could just ask Happy, but somehow that seemed unsporting. All Tony could really assume was that Bruce had been out with you, and if he’d returned that happy…well, that was probably bad news.

“Have a good day?” Tony asked as he wiped the last of his meal from his lips.

Bruce had been looking around the kitchen, but his eyes found Tony’s again before he answered with a hesitant, “Why?”

“You just seem like you’re in a really good mood.”

“Is that bad?”

“That depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“What caused the good mood.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Tony’s met them before he got up to put his dish into the washer. When he turned back, most of the traces of Bruce’s happiness appeared to have faded.

“What do you mean?” Bruce asked slowly.

Tony took a deep breath. The idea of letting Bruce remain oblivious was starting to burn a hole through his stomach. He couldn’t take it anymore–especially if things had progressed as far as Tony thought they might have. Even then, it might already be too late. None of that mattered particularly in the light of Bruce’s feelings, but maybe Tony could get things to stop without saying exactly why they needed to.

“Were you out with [Name] today?” he began.

Bruce’s tongue darted once out of his mouth to wet his lips. One thumb lifted to casually rub against the palm of his other hand.

“Yeah,” said Bruce, in a tone full of hesitation. “I was. Why?”

“Is she why you’re so happy?”

“Yes. _Why_?”

The urgency in Bruce’s voice put Tony on edge. Had Bruce already somehow heard? It wasn’t exactly hard to do a Google search these days.

“Because…” Tony looked toward the ceiling before finding Bruce again. “Because I think you should stop seeing her.”

Bruce looked away. His eyes screwed up. Tony waited. When Bruce spoke, however, he was oddly calm. “What?”

Tony gestured toward the ceiling with a shrug. That Bruce wasn’t having a panic attack came as something of relief. “You should stop seeing [Name].”

“No. I–I heard you. I don’t understand. _You’re_ the one that was so insistent that I go out with her. _Why_ do you want me to stop seeing [Name]?”

Tony blinked. He hadn’t thought of a good fake reason. Probably a question he should have planned ahead for. “Well…” He ran his hand up to his forehead. “Well, she’s not very nice.”

“She’s not very nice?” There was a note of hysteria in Bruce’s laughter. “Of course she’s not going to be nice to you, Tony. She doesn’t like you.”

“And why not? I am a _fantastic_ human being.”

“You know why. She told you.”

“If she hates the Avengers so much, why is she dating _you_?”

"I…” Bruce opened and closed his mouth several times. “I don’t think she knows. That I was there that day, I mean.”

“Obviously.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Tony, I don’t understand.”

“Have you told her that you were there? That you’re one of us?”

“I’m not–‘one’ of you.”

“Yes, you are. Bruce, we’re a team. You’re a crucial member of this team. If you want her to stick around, you’re going to have to tell her at some point. You were planning to, weren’t you?”

“I hadn’t planned that far ahead, to be honest. I was enjoying the now, like a certain someone told me to when he drove me here after Loki and Thor left.”

“But you have to tell her at some point,” said Tony. “You can’t just lead her on until you decide to dump her. That’s just impolite.”

“Says the man that did that to _how_ many women before he started dating Pepper?”

“This isn’t about me, Bruce. This is about you.”

“Why do you care so much?”

Bruce shifted, and Tony saw enough anger in that movement to bother him. Not that anything terrible would happen if Bruce had a slip up; Tony was prepared. On the other hand, Bruce would be upset with himself, and there was clearly already enough of _that_ going on.

“I just care about you,” Tony said pointedly. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“And you think [Name] is going to hurt me.”

“Probably.”

“And you think I can't handle that.”

“I never said that.”

“Do you think I’m going to hurt her?”

“Of course not. Listen to yourself, Bruce. When have I _ever_ implied something like that?”

“You’re doing a pretty good job of it right now!” Bruce shouted.

“This has nothing to do with you hurting [Name]! I just want to make sure you stay happy!” Tony shouted in return.

“I _am_ happy!”

“But you won’t be!”

“Why not?”

“Because you killed her grandfather!”

The silence that followed was deafening. Tony’s words seemed to echo through the gleaming kitchen, causing a ringing that meant that he could _see_ the rapid rising and falling of Bruce’s chest, but he could not _hear_ his breathing. Tony’s heart beat hurriedly in his own chest; the last vestiges of anger faded quickly as the realization of what he had just said dawned on him. Slowly, Tony lifted his hands.

“Bruce?” he said gently, because Bruce had been quiet for far too long now, though Tony could still see him breathing heavily across the table. “Bruce, are you o–”

“What,” Bruce said, in a tone that indicated incredibly forced calm, “did you just say?”

Tony closed his eyes for a moment. Yes, telling Bruce was probably good thing. In that sort of situation? Probably not. “Me? I didn’t say–”

“Don’t lie to me!”

There went the forced calm. Tony’s eyes popped open. He stared at Bruce, carefully trying to assess the situation. He knew that Bruce would feel terrible if he Hulked out, but that probably wasn’t on the forefront of Bruce’s mind at the moment. With a deep, steadying breath, Tony tried again:

“I said that you killed [Name]’s grandfather.”

Bruce sank into one of the kitchen chairs, raising a trembling hand to his face. Tony could feel his heart sinking all the way down to his toes. He had to resist the urge to walk over to Bruce and wrap an arm around his shoulders–after all, Bruce wouldn’t want anyone near him at a time like this. Just as Tony considered leaving the room, however, he heard a quiet voice say, “How?”

“How…what?”

“How did I kill him?”

Poor Bruce. To not even question killing a man, to not even protest being capable of such a thing. Bruce just accepted it. Tony licked his lips as he leaned into the counter behind himself. “As the Hulk. During the attack on Manhattan. That’s why she hates the Avengers so much.”

At last, Bruce looked up. His eyes met Tony’s, and Tony could see the pleading in them before Bruce even spoke.

“But it was collateral. It wasn’t on purpose, was it?”

“No. Of course not. You wouldn’t ever…” But it was glaringly obvious that Bruce did not believe him. “I’m sorry, Bruce. I wanted to tell you.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since she ran out of here during the movie. I did some searching for her grandfather, records of death, things like that. I thought she wouldn’t come back after that, and I knew telling you would upset you.”

“So you kept it a secret?” Bruce got to his feet/

Tony stood up straight. “You didn’t ever talk about her! You told _Pepper_ you were seeing her, but not me! How was I supposed to know?”

“This is _my_ fault?”

“That’s not what I’m saying! Would you listen for a minute? I wanted to spare your feelings.”

“Spare my–” Bruce broke off in a weak laugh. “Tony. I fell in love with her. I just told her so. Do you really think that spared my feelings?”

“Like I said, I didn’t know.”

“You’ve known for a little while now. You caught me leaving to have lunch with her.” The accusation in Bruce’s voice was clear.

Tony smirked to ward off anymore. He rubbed the back of his head as he walked forward. “I didn’t think you’d enjoy yourself enough to keep it up.” At the sound growling, Tony jumped. “Okay, okay! I just–I didn’t want to ruin this for you. I wanted you to be _happy_ , Bruce.”

“Happy. That’s a laugh.” Bruce rubbed a hand against his cheek and stalked toward the refrigerator. Just as he reached the object, however, he spun around and paced back toward Tony. “What am I going to tell her?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the truth?”

“The truth? Yeah, that sounds like that will work out _really_ well.”

“If she loves you, she wouldn’t care.”

“Tony, even _I_ don’t love the Hulk. How could I ask her to–No. That’s insane. I can’t.”

“But don’t you _want_ her to stay?”

Bruce turned to stare at Tony.

In response, Tony lifted his eyebrows as well as his shoulders. “Well? Don’t you?”

“Of course I’d _want_ her to, but…Listen to yourself, Tony. What I’m supposed to say? ‘Hey, [Name]. We’re close enough now that I think I can tell you something personal about myself. I murdered your grandfather in cold blood!’”

Tony shook his head. “That’s not how it happened.”

“That’s not–” Bruce smiled, though the smile did not reach his eyes. “How do you know?”

“Because I saw it.” The threat having passed, Tony walked to the table, pulled out a chair, and settled into it. “You think I was just going to take [Name]’s crazy grandmother’s interview at its word? I looked up the footage.”

“What is it?” Bruce sounded urgent as he took Tony’s shoulders. His grip was iron; Tony took a moment to pry himself free. “What happened?”

“It…wasn’t anything,” Tony said. “I mean, obviously it was _something_ , but…” He trailed away at the look on Bruce’s face. “The Hulk is running through an office building. There’s an older couple standing in the way. The man pushes the woman behind him. She tries to get around his arm. Then, the Hulk blows by and just…smashes them. Straight into the wall.”

His fingers drummed a quiet tattoo against the table’s surface. For some reason, these words seemed to have confused Bruce; his eyebrows furrowed. Then:

“Show me.”

“What?” Tony’s eyes widened as he leaned forward a little.

Bruce’s expression, however, remained entirely serious.

For a second time, Tony shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Tony, I _need_ to know. Show me.”

“Bruce, no. It’s only going to make you hate yourself and–”

“I already hate myself, so show me!”

“No!”

“I said, _SHOW ME_.”

This time, there was no mistaking the green glint in Bruce’s eyes, or the guttural, almost inhuman undercurrent in his voice. Tony forced himself not to reach for the armor-summoning bracelet on his wrist. Showing Bruce any sort of fear would only hurt matters at this point. As Tony stalled for thinking time, he pressed his lips together. Then he let out his most annoyed snort.

“Fine.” With a grimace, Tony jammed his fingers onto the surface of the table. Underneath the tips, blue lights flashed. A screen pulled up. “File 0831, please. The records of the Hulk at the bank.” Then he looked straight into Bruce’s eyes. “Prepare yourself. It isn’t pretty.”


End file.
